Stormfront
by juliasejanus
Summary: Herod Sayle lay dead on a roof top in London. Alex looked at his uncle's murderer and made a different decision concerning his future, MI6 be damned Alex Rider was his own boss.
1. Chapter 1

_The Russian ran his eyes over Alex, as if weighing him up. "I have no instructions concerning you," he said._

_"You're not going to shoot me too?"_

_"Do I have any need to?"_

Alex Rider stood on rooftop overlooking the helipad and stared at Yassen. The wind buffeted them both. They seemed to be at an impasse standing next to the corpse of Herod Sayle. Yassen had no reason to kill Alex. Alex had no reason to push the assassin, but then he opened his big mouth. "So, do you work for yourself or do you have some prick like Blunt pulling your strings"

That gained Alex a raised eyebrow "I am a freelance, I work for who pays."

That kinda answered the question that Yassen was not working for Sayle but that was another story.

With nothing left to loose Alex boldly stated "You owe me."

"I owe you?" Yassen stated slowly appraising the youngster in front of him "Pray little one, what do I owe you?" A smile crossed over Yassen's handsome face.

"I was told you killed my uncle. His death kinda left me at Alan Blunt's beck and call. I don't want to be MI6's puppet, but I have no choice since their now my guardian. He tells me to jump and all that jazz, otherwise its some crummy institution for delinquent teenagers for me. I like the idea of being my own boss, which is not an option for me because Blunt owns my ass" Alex had said all this really fast. Alex paused, composing his thoughts he then took a deep breath and went for broke "I really have nothing going for me here. I either try the streets or you could take me with you. You get a tea-boy, gopher, apprentice?" Yassen looked at Alex blankly, so he continued to talk, fidgeting " Maid, cook; not that I can cook much. Or ..." Alex stilled and looked at Yassen straight in the eyes, "how about I could warm your bed."

Yassen turned, showing nor outward astonishment on what Hunter's son had just offered him, and pointed to the helicopter. "So come."

Alex wondered which option he had just been signed up for. What did it matter, anything was better than Blunt.

Yassen was quiet as he flew the helicopter to a small deserted airfield. They landed and transferred on to a lear jet. Alex even got to sit in the cockpit next to his new boss. Yassen started asking questions of Alex. Hobbies, sports, interests, what he was good at at school, what languages he spoke, and then the questions on MI6, his special ops training and Stormbreaker. Alex had no reason to lie so told him everything. It was like being debriefed all over again.

"My My little one, aren't you just fascinating. Such potential. What do you really want, Alex? What drove you to take a one way ticket with a known terrorist."

"I'm not stupid. Realizing Ian, my dear departed uncle, has sold me to the devil and had been preparing for me to follow in his footsteps since I started to walk and talk has made me feeling just a little angry and betrayed. I was sent to Cornwall by Blunt and he expected me to die. I didn't. I'm just expendable, they're just looking at an excuse to get rid of me. I'm only around as long as I'm useful. So fuck them. You can use me as you will, I don't care just as long as its bad for Blunt. I want him to hate the name Alex Rider."

"So like me. I think this will be the start of a wonderful relationship." Yassen liked the idea of embarrassing MI6, but more than that, he owed John to look after his son. Alex had been desperate to make the choice of leaving all he knew behind.

Alex went into the plane's cabin and fell asleep, only to wake as the plane landed. Alex was thirsty and hungry as the plane taxied into a hanger, it looked warm outside and barren. Alex kept quiet. No grumbling. No questions. Yassen and Alex left the hanger after a brief rest stop and clean up.

Yassen had let Alex carry his bags, then later unpack, start the laundry and clean his guns. He instructed Alex exactly how he liked his belongings packed away and cared for. Over the next few days, the assassin spoke to Alex in russian, which Alex quickly picked up. Alex cooked basic meals, cleaned, trained and exercised with Yassen. Alex even slept in Yassen's room, on a blanket on the hard floor, go figure. Alex had become an apprentice/trainee as Yassen waited for a new assignment to come in. Wherever Yassen's compound was, it was isolated. Some arabs came with supplies once. They looked at Alex as he read a book on basic Russian grammar, but did not talk to him.

Alex did not ask questions of Yassen. Yassen corrected him on his pronunciation and engaged him in conversations about inane things, computers, poetry, politics, history, geography. It was like school. Then reality hit back.

As if talking about the weather Yassen said "Blunt is making enquiries about you. Offering quite a bit of money for information."

Alex's heart sank. The idea of going back was more frightening a prospect than a future with Yassen. "I think we should send your friends at MI6 a postcard."


	2. Chapter 2

Alex's introduction into interrogation techniques was an eyeopener. Yassen had hold him what to expect and Alex had agreed to Yassen's plan, but the reality made SAS 101 in Wales seem like a beach holiday. Yassen told Alex all about training under Dr. Three and how he had been his star pupil. Yassen was an artist at inflicting pain. Alex, at this point would sell every friend he ever had for a shower and oblivion on a comfortable bed. Alex was currently hung naked from the ceiling by a pair of manacles which had rubbed his wrist and lower hands raw. His nailless toes barely had any purchase on the floor, every change in movement was painful. He was taking long ragged breaths, his throat sore from screaming. His body was covered in blood, spit, snot, tears, urine and faeces. He had been punched, kicked, whipped and cut with a knife. He learned about the stimulation of pressure points the hard way. The humiliation of having to shit and piss himself in front of Yassen was as bad as the pain he'd been subjected to.

Yassen paused before he undid Alex's manacles letting him drop bonelessly onto the concrete floor. He then switched off the camera recording the interrogation. Alex didn't even move after his bath, which was a hosing down with cold water. Alex was dragged onto a chair, a pair of handcuffs pinned his hands behind the chair. His ankles were then tied to the chairs legs and a large strap tied his whole body to the chair to secure him in a sitting position

Hours later Alex awoke when Yassen tipped Alex's head back and isotonic water flooded his mouth. Alex opened his swollen eyes to look at Yassen and he smiled weakly. Yassen roughly stoked Alex's face. Yassen remained silent, as he moved off to prepare the next stage of the interrogation. The video camera had been moved and switched on again. It was showtime.

Torture by electroshock via a car battery had completely undone Alex. Alex sobbed and pleaded in russian, in english, in french, in spanish and in german. Begging in gasps "Please stop... no more... no more pain... Please God anything, just please stop... I'll do anything you want... I'll be a good, just stop." The agony continued without mercy until Alex blacked out.

Yassen had gently cleaned Alex up, and given him some rough first aid. A small meal and a long dreamless, drug induced sleep had made Alex feel a little less like a slightly warm corpse. Tape and bandages covered Alex, he wore a loose pair of old pajama bottoms as the next stage of Yassen's plan started. Alex looked blankly at the camera holding up a copy of yesterdays Sunday Times, a classic hostage shot for everyone back home. Split lip, swollen nose, two black eyes and grazed cheeks. Both his hands and wrists were heavily bandaged. Butterfly plasters were littered across his chest where fine knife cuts still stung as if fresh.

"Talk to your friends back home, little one." said Yassen, masking his voice with a Syrian accent.

"I have no friends." said Alex in a strange raspy voice.

"No, then just some basic information."

Alex licked his lips. "My name is Alex Rider"... Yassen moved suddenly at this point and Alex practically flew backwards.

"Full name child, you promised to be a good boy remember."

Alex stepped back to his mark, and coughed he hated using his full name "My name is Alexander John Rider. I am fourteen years old, I was born on the 13th February 1987 at the City of London Hospital. I live at Cheyne Walk in Chelsea and I'm in Year 9 at Brooklands Comprehensive School in Vauxhall. My favourite school subjects are maths, sport and modern languages. When I grow up I want to play football for Chelsea." A long pause followed, Alex's gaze went to Yassen and then to his feet.

"Good boy." Yassen leaned forward and took the paper Alex was holding, Alex held his arms to his chest, suddenly feeling very exposed. Yassen then stepped forward and hugged the boy. Yassen in a low voice "You were very good. Excellent in fact." Yassen then gave Alex's hair a final stroke before turning to switch off the video camera. Yassen looked at Alex. He stepped forward and raised Alex's chin so the boy looked into his eyes "Now we can carry on your training but first you will have a history lesson. I have to tell you about your father."


	3. Chapter 3

Interlude London

Wolf was in London waiting for Fox. It had been weeks since Fox had started working for MI6 Special Operations full time. He could bet poor Fox was getting all the bum jobs as the rookie. The White Hart was around the corner from Royal and General, and was still crowded with city bankers at 4pm.

Fox looked tired when he walked in, he gladly gulped down the pint of beer, Wolf had ready. "Shit day at spook central"

"Shit month since Stormbreaker blew." a weary reply from Fox

"You working on Sayle's assassination, then." enquired Wolf

"Yeah something like that." Fox definitely did not want to spoil his weekend off with questions about work.

They then started watching the football. Coverage of the game was abruptly stopped by the newsflash. London Schoolboy held by Middle Eastern Terrorists, Alex Rider Aged 14 kidnapped nephew of London Banker, Ian Rider, last seen at school on the 9th March. The screen filled with a short video of an abused boy holding a last sundays newspaper looking scared shitless. Pictures then switched to the outside broadcast at a house in Chelsea. The Kidnappers are thought to be an Hamas splinter group operating in the capital, suspected perpetrators of the assassination of Herod Sayle. Was Alex Rider a witness. No ransom demands have been posted at this time. We have not received any comment from the foreign office.

"Shit that's Cub" exclaimed Wolf.

"Yeah, fucking hell the ransom tape's been released to the fucking press." Fox rubbed his face.

"So Cub screwed his first mission" Wolf looked worried, Cub was fourteen. This business was no place for a fourteen year old. What had MI6 been thinking.

Ben filled in the details in a low voice "No, far from it. He was the agent undercover that broke Stormbreaker. The kid did it single handed, no back up. He disappeared on his way home after debriefing. We think he was picked up outside the bank, we have CCTV footage of him getting into a cab. The cab was found with Alex's and Sayle's prints all over it. We know it was Sayle who took Cub and gave him to the terrorists' holding him." Ben wiped a hand over his tired face "Shit Wolf you don't know the half of it. The sick bastard has been sending us tapes of Cub's interrogation and torture. The kid was begging on one for him to stop. The kid's half way brainwashed. The next time we see him I reckon he'll be pointing a gun at us."

SAS was a small community. Wolf told his team and the Sergeants about his conversation with Fox. The fact Cub, was 14 and had been an MI6 trained operative and subsequently been kidnapped had spread like wild fire. The Regimental Sergeant was pissed. He'd been ordered not to ask questions. Blunt had stepped too far by recruiting John Rider's boy. John Rider had been a popular and successful member of the SAS in the seventies and early 1980's.


	4. Chapter 4

Alex watched the news on the badly tuned satellite receiver in a seedy Ukrainian hotel. His kidnapping was the top story on BBC World, CNN and Sky. The TV showed him holding the paper looking battered and bruised, and very, very young. The moment for him jumping back, showed absolute fear etched on his face. Alex then went and looked in the mirror. Alex's blond hair and eyebrows were now dark brown. His face and hands masked in fake tan, he looked like an arab with a dark middle eastern completion.

Yassen was asleep on the bed. Alex now knew that John Rider had trained Yassen and had been an assassin for Scorpia. Yassen was going to continue his training.

Alex Rider was a hostage somewhere in the middle east. The total stranger in the mirror was about to learn how to be an international assassin, just like his father.

Six weeks later, Yassen had told Alex of a planned assassination in Bogota. Alex had his legend. Alexei Mikhailovich Latkin, he even had his own russian passport. Alex Rider, London schoolboy, was a thing of the past. Alex now spoke russian, had perfected russian mannerisms and even dreamt in russian. Alex had completed sniper training to Yassen's meticulous standards, and would be working as back up for Yassen.

It had been a long flight from Kiev to Bogota, even in first class. Alex felt as sick as a dog, something he had ingested had not agreed with him. Alex had puked in passport control after asking for a bucket in spanish. The officers had rushed them through with instructions of the best hospital in Bogota for the poor sick boy.

Yassen had let Alex lie down in the taxi, the boy's head on his lap stroking his dark hair. They arrived at a plush hotel. Yassen carrying Alex as the concierge arranged for a doctor to be sent to their suite.

Alex woke to Yassen stroking his face. He then helped Alex into the shower. As Yassen washed Alex he told him in a quiet voice that the operation was a CIA sting. The suite was bugged. Yassen was arranging transport to Cuba, but the assassin thought the CIA were after Alex.

The idea of driving a wedge between the SIS and their allies was an unforeseen opportunity. Yassen was sure that MI6 had not told the CIA the full story, because using underage agents was just not done. Alex was told to play the role of brainwashed hostage.

Two CIA operatives visited later that day as clients for Yassen's services. Alex lay perfectly still in the centre of the room with lunch, a delicate array of sushi displayed on his torso and legs, a small towel covering his groin. Yassen looking relaxed and very handsome in a silk kimono poured out sake for his clients.

Alex watched as the younger female agent looked positively ill when glancing at Alex. Alex thought it was bad form for her to break her composure at the sight of one underage captive. The lunch lasted an hour and a half with promised of wire transfers and files via an intermediary.

Yassen left late that afternoon. He was certain the CIA would make their move that evening. Before he left, Yassen had drugged Alex, so he would be asleep till morning. Alex woke to a dark suite, alone. Yassen had let him. There had been no extraction. Obviously the CIA had discovered he was an MI6 operative, he was on his own.

Four CIA operatives entered the suite at 4:30am, no guards, the only sound in the suite was the shower. Checking out the area proved the main room and bedroom were empty with no booby traps. Two operatives flanked the bathroom door, one covered them, and one covered the room's exit. As they burst in the room, their gaze drawn to the slumped figure of the extraction target; a trail of red in the water, blood pouring from slashed wrists.

Fuck swore one of the operatives, as the other switched off the shower and pushed the dropped glass fragment put of Alex's reach. He then pulled Alex from the water, wrapped towels around his wrists. Pulse slow and respiration shallow. The only responses from Alex we soft groans. Barely conscious. The special forces operative whispered soft reassurance to the kid "Hold on we're gonna get you outta here. Hold on."

Firefox Alpha Sierra Tango.. Target secured extraction in two minutes Medic on stand by. A large towel was wrapped around Alex and he was lifted over the operatives shoulders and they exited to the stairs and sprinted to the roof.

Alex dreamt of a helicopter's loud whine, he was so thirsty as if back in the desert, at the start of his interrogation.

A bright light was being shone in his eyes, he was unable to bat it away all he managed in protest was a dry half cough. An american asked for his name... Alexei Mikhailovich? thought Alex. The voice continued as "Your real name" was asked for forcefully, Alex thought hard, his brow creased in concentration as if remembering a half forgotten secret "Alex... Alex Rider", the teenager answered in a raspy whisper.

"Have some ice chips, Alex, it'll help". Alex felt the cool wet splinters melt on his tongue. "What's your date of birth Alex...".

Alex thought about it and answered "13th February 1987".

"Ok Alex can you open you eyes for me." Alex opened his eyes blearily to a room that was far too bright and painted grey. "Alex did you cut your wrists?"

"Yes." Alex looked around and noted the restraints on his arms and legs. The hiss of oxygen to a cannula on his nose.. He had a bag of blood and saline into a catheter on his arm. The steady slow blips of a heart monitor.

"Ok Alex, I know your tired. Go back to sleep." Alex closed his eyes but the voice continued. "The kids still full of either a strong tranquilizer or morphine, high as a fucking kite. You'll have to wait to debrief him. Get the shrink up here, as well. This is out of my comfort zone." The voices mumbled incoherently, as Alex lost the ability to concentrate.

Interlude

John Masterson listened to the call on speaker "Fingerprints match what the Brits sent us. The kid is definitely Alex Rider." The CIA agent then looked up the CIA file for the Scorpia assassin. The Russian was a known assassin and torture expert. The kid's kidnapping, torture and reprogramming did not fit with any known modus operandi of the russian's. Yassen worked alone. Then Masterson noticed a short note attached to Gregorovich's file

_Known associates: Former partner Hunter. Assassin for Scorpia c. 1983-1987. Trainer at Malogosto._

_AKA John Rider, SAS/MI6 agent. Assassinated 11th May 1987_.

Masterson's blood ran cold, Revenge now extended to our kids. The extraction team had all seen that Yassen had broken the kid and brainwashed him. Yassen had left the boy as he said he would but the state of the kid almost made Masterson sick. He'd been in the room as the emergency team had stabilsed him and started to catalogue his injuries. The kid was been clean of DNA.


	5. Chapter 5

Alex slowly regained consciousness to notice two nurses in the room. "Good Morning, Alex. I'm just going to raise your bed up so you can have some breakfast. OK." Alex's heartbeat raised as the nurse approached the bed, "I'm not going to touch you, Alex". Alex screwed his eyes shut, wishing this was just a bad dream.

Alex said in a quiet raspy whisper in russian "I want to go home".

The nurse then answered "English please, Alex".

English. Yeah Alex used to speak English. "I want to go home".

"Its OK, Alex we'll get you back to London soon."

Alex knew he had no home there. Not anymore. No Yassen, No Jack, No Ian. There was nothing to go back to London for. Alex just stared blankly at the ceiling.

The other nurse came in with breakfast and spoon fed Alex. Some strange porridge type breakfast and some dry eggs washed down with a glass of milk which Alex sucked through a straw like he was five.

The debriefing team watched the boy. He hadn't spoken since before breakfast. He looked perfectly docile.

Shortly after all nursing staff left and three suits arrived "Ok Alex, we want to ask you some questions."

Alex stared at the ceiling. "We need answers Alex".

"I don't know anything." Alex's raspy flat emotionless voice matched his cold emotionless face. Alex remained silent as questions were asked about Yassen.

"Why did you try to kill yourself?" questioned the shrink.

"Yassen left me, he knew you were coming and that you wanted me. I have nothing to go back to England for. Ian's dead. MI6 will have deported Jack by now. I'm no use to Blunt and Jones anymore so what have I got to live for." Alex closed his eyes, his situation was now hopeless. He would rather die than be MI6's pawn again. The shrink noted as Alex began pulling on his restraints.

"Can you calm down for me, Alex? If you continue to pull on your restraints you will hurt yourself" Alex immediately stilled, as stiff as a board. Taught and coiled as if waiting for action.

The two guys behind had a hurried hissing match.

The suit on the left then spoke, obviously the boss... "Kid, how do you know about Blunt and Jones?"

"Chief exec and operations manager for special operations MI6, based at Royal and General Bank, Liverpool Street, London. My uncle, Ian Rider was an agent." So the kid knew about the Bank being a front for Blunt's black ops unit. Masterson had worked with Ian Rider, several years before.

"How do you know all this?" The kid knew too much about MI6's shady operations unit. Most at SIS had no idea of Blunt's spook squad.

"You don't know." Alex laughed a dry, cold, mirthless laugh. "Did you think I'm just some clueless school kid caught in the crossfire. Yassen was right MI6 didn't tell you did they. They gave me a Codename "Cub" when I trained with the SAS in March. I was the operative at Port Tallon, I found out about the virus within the Stormbreakers. I parachuted into the science museum; shot at the British PM for gods sake. I was careless after debriefing, got into a cab to go home, Sayle was driving it. He tried to use me as a bargaining chip with Yassen, Yassen shot him and took me. Eleven weeks later here we are." The kid looked defiantly at the three men, triumphant that he'd got one over on the big bad CIA.

Alex smiled and then dropped his bomb shell. "I'm only fourteen, I got ten days training before I went under cover at Port Tallon. I got shot at, caught, cut, beaten, half drowned, shot at again, I escaped Sayle's goons and I saved the fucking day all after being blackmailed into doing it by Alan cunt-face Blunt, OK."

"Blackmail?" The kid had been forced into Black ops. Most who went into this line of work were either patriotic nut jobs or after revenge.

"Ian Rider has been training me to be a perfect agent since I started to walk and talk. Yeah, my darling dear departed uncle, left Blunt and Jones as my guardians. I was so absolutely thrilled about that as you can imagine at what a nice short leash that they had me on. Their way or the highway. They control my future. All I am to them now is a monumental fuck-up. I tried to top myself to save them having to waste a bullet. I'll be as popular at Royal and General as the plague at the moment. What do you think." spat Alex.

At this point all three suits left and two armed marines were posted at the door. Alex guessed his welcome with the americans had just run out.

That afternoon and evening, all Alex did was talk going over the events over the last three and a half months over and over. He spoke of his torture in the same flat tone as he discussed Ian, Blunt, Sayle, Stormbreaker and the training he had received from both MI6 and Yassen.

He was exhausted, finally lying flat out, dying for a cigarette. The suits came back.

"We checked you out. You look so cute on your school photos. Your class mates think its so cool and exciting to be kidnapped. Maybe we should have shown them the tapes we received." Alex closed his eyes and swore.

"Yassen sent you the tapes as well? I guess a cigarette is out of the question. Oxygen and all that." Alex requested.

"What the fuck was Blunt doing sending a kid into black ops, anyway?" the second suit asked.

"His job. Everyone is expendable for Queen and country" spat out Alex bitterly.

Alex hated asking for a bed pan, alas he was still strapped to the bed even after the IV and oxygen had been removed. A fitful night, he couldn't even toss and turn. The whole tied down scenario was getting to be a complete and utter bore.

Suit No. 1 came back and stated "This whole situation has turned from public relations goldmine to a pile of shit a mile high. We're sending you back today. Flights arranged to Mildenhall, within the hour."

"You doing this on the quiet now? Why don't you just make a statement out of it. Let MI6 know how pissed you are. Chuck me out of a box buck naked in front of the Queen for all I care." Again Alex had opened his mouth. An hour later he stood in a bright orange jump suit, ankle and wrist shackles and a nice bag over his head. The CIA were sending Alex back as a pretty package dressed as public enemy number 1 with a one way ticket to Blunt's bosses door in Whitehall.


	6. Chapter 6

Alex was astonished to find out he was on a massive air craft carrier. The plane take off was truly fucking awful. At least they changed planes for the rest of the flight back, so it was not as bad as he thought it was going to be. Suit no. 1 turned out to be CIA Operations Chief at the US Embassy in London, John Masterson. Once they were in the air he took off Alex's hood, and was quite civil. He even let Alex have a cigarette, the first of several during the journey. Alex hadn't had a smoke since Kiev. Christ, if Ian could see him now he'd pitch an absolute fit about the smoking. The crew of the plane kept looking at Alex strangely but he didn't care. He still looked like a stranger with dyed black hair.

The car journey was bad. Bundled between two large operatives. Bag over his head in the back of a airless, too hot, car. Alex hated it. He had not had motion sickness this bad since he was a kid. Ian had cured it by making Alex a complete roller coaster junkie. Must be something to do with the couple of units of blood he was still missing. Eventually the car stopped. He dry heaved as he was pulled out into the fresh air, tears in his eyes. The traffic noise was dull, so Alex suspected a courtyard. Steps, doors, hall, a lift. Alex was pushed, half dragged and generally manhandled down several corridors; all with loud whispers as they passed. A short wait and then a female voice stated that Sir Charles would see them now.

The meeting did not last long. Not even polite greetings. Just Masterson stating in a cold voice.. "Here's the operative you misplaced" and the three americans turned and walked out. As the two heavies let go of Alex he stumbled and crashed to the floor. After a short wait his hood was removed to reveal bright, morning sunshine. Alex did what he had been wanting to do for two and a half hours, barfed over the beautifully polished oak floor and then promptly fainted.

He blearily came to hearing a cut glass english accent "...ander? Are you alright Alexander? Alexander?... Maggie get me a locksmith and a doctor in here ASAP".

Someone was giving him a sip of water. Then washing his face with a cloth. Alex thanked them softy in russian. "Pasiba." Then "Where am I?" in english.

Alex relaxed lying on the sofa in Sir Charles Fellows office, his arm covering his face. The Head of SIS was not amused by the americans dumping Alex in his office. Operative or not, Alex was still a child. One Blunt should never had placed in such danger. In short order, Alex had been cut from the manacles, had been stripped, washed and dressed in a pair of too large pajamas and a loose cotton dressing gown. The doc had checked Alex out when his jumpsuit had been removed. He had redressed Alex's wrists and stated to Sir Charles in a hushed bossy tone that Alex needed proper hospital care, psychiatric evaluation for PTSD/Stockholm syndrome, high risk of another suicide attempt and probable danger to himself and others. The most pressing engagement for SIS was the public relations nightmare. Alex would have to appear at a press conference as naive schoolboy kidnap victim, home safe and in one piece. Alex had been given a mild tranquilizer and was on the way to Greenwich Naval Hospital, where the press conference had been hastily arranged and would include a short appearance by Alex followed by an evaluation and debriefing at a safe house.

Alex looked small and thin in the too large nightclothes with bare feet. His athletic frame had slimmed down in the last few weeks to waif like proportions. The government had made up some bullshit about extraction from the back end of Lebanon by an elite US special ops team. One truth amongst the lies. No mention of Yassen, Kiev, Columbia or Stormbreaker. Alex had been kidnapped as the heir of Banker Ian Rider, friend and confident of the late great Herod Sayle.

The stupid press contingent clapped as Alex was lead out by two nurses to be sat facing a room of hyenas. The Foreign Office Spokesperson had given Alex a short statement to read out. Alex looked down, no eye contact and fidgeted. He quietly thanked all the personnel involved in his rescue and all the people who had helped secure his safe return. Then the bank of flash bulbs had erupted and Alex had a genuine panic attack thinking only of the electric arcing off the battery, he had frozen for a moment locked in the memory then screamed ear pitching cries and had thrown himself backwards. The nurses quickly lead him out of the room as Alex shrieked. A few of the more observant journalists had noted the heavily bandaged wrists and the very anaemic appearance of the schoolboy.

Interlude

US Embassy London

John Masterson got himself a large bourbon after watching the lunchtime special edition extended news with press conference. The layers of bullshit were erased when the kid had suddenly broken down completely. There was no artifice in the way the kid had panicked, John had seen too many colleagues caught in flashbacks to know Alex's reaction was no act. The kid had genuinely been tortured to break point and everyone seemed to have forgotten that fact. John had been taken in by the worldly hard bitter air of the kid, talking like an old operative. John bet the kid had slashed his wrists out of pure panic not knowing what the future had in store, a little boy lost in the cold reality of international espionage. Alex Rider had the makings of a great agent if only MI6 had let him grieve for his uncle and grow up.


	7. Chapter 7

Agent Ben Daniels sat in the front of the car transporting Alex Rider to the safe house in Cambridge. Ben could not shake the images from the videos he and his team mates had studied extensively looking for clues to Alex's location. A doctor and nurse sat on either side of the heavily sedated boy, the Alex's head was tipped back snoring. Agent Daniels was one of the few at Special Operations not getting a dressing down at the moment from the SIS chief. Ben already felt guilty enough for his part in Alex's misuse by MI6. They pulled into a drive of a slightly run down townhouse in a quiet side street. The SAS driver carried the sleeping boy up the three flights of stairs to the room normally occupied by suspects and defectors under evaluation. Ben wondered how broken Cub was, after this afternoons performance, on top of the suicide attempt, suggested he was well on the way to being a complete basket case.

The nurse, who introduced himself as Brian, had woken Alex for his evening meal. Alex appraised his surroundings as he went for a pee, bedroom with single bed, desk and cupboard; a small en-suite wetroom, no doors, no curtains. Bedroom with small skylight, probably alarmed. The other room was a larger communal area with dining table, sofa and TV with the guard post in front of the stairs, large skylight over the stairs. All in the attic of the house. Two cameras in the bedroom, one on the stairs, two for the communal area, and one in the bathroom. Whole place wired for sound.

Alex sat at the table in the communal area and looked at the plate of stew like it was vomit and had then proceeded to push the food around his plate with absolutely no intension of eating. Alex had been off his food since leaving Kiev. He might have managed light soup but this was disgusting.

The boy noted the two guards on the landing, SAS by the look and smell. Stuck in a house with a bunch of SAS nut-jobs, Joy oh Joy oh Joy it sounded like Alex Rider's own personal hell.

The plate of stew was replaced by apple crumble and custard, which got the same treatment as the stew. Alex played with the congealing dessert picking up spoon after spoon and dropping the gloop back in the bowl.

Brian gently touched Alex's wrist to stop him playing with his food and laid down the law as only a medic can. "Look, Alex you are severely anaemic at the moment. Your body needs to replace the blood you have lost. The two units that were transfused were enough to get you out of danger but you are not out of the woods yet. Eat, preferably three good meals and two snacks a day. Also sleep as much as you want, you need to heal. Regain the weight you have lost, at least 3 kilos and I'll be happy. You have to take your iron supplements with food otherwise they'll wash straight through your system. No tea, no coffee, no cola. You can have lucozade, water, milk or fruit juice. At the moment if you want to eat pizza or burgers 24/7 I'll allow it. Chocolate is also allowed. Just promise me you'll eat, because the alternative of a feeding tube is just nasty." Brian held onto Alex's hands. "Steve is the medic here." Brian then pointed to the shorter, younger guy on the landing. "He'll be reporting to me. Steve will change your dressings and be giving you your tablets. The antidepressants, iron tablets and multivitamin are a must. The sleeping pills, are only if you need then. He also has the usual aspirin, ibuprofen and antacids. I'll see you in three days to remove your stitches. Do not bust them OK."

Ben then came in to see Alex, and Brian went to lay down the law with the unit medic. Ben looked at Cub trying to think of something to say. "Hello Cub" he said quietly.

Alex looked at his old team mate and played I'm a teenager card, just to make the SAS git feel guilty "'llo Fox, Please, don't tell me K unit are here to baby sit as well, because that would be just too much."

"No just me as point man today, the rest of K unit are off hazing my replacement." Ben asked truthfully.

"Replacement, so you're MI6 full time? D'you get Ian's job?" Ben noted Alex said MI6 like a swear word.

"Ian?" Who was Ian? thought Ben.

"You know Ian Rider, my uncle. Removed his name plate from Office 1504 have they." Ben just thought he had just met his match in a fourteen year old boy, who probably was a far better agent than he would ever be. Alex then stated in a quiet voice " Ian was a fucking liar. Bet you're a liar as well".

The two onlookers had watched this little exchange with interest. One Agent Ben Daniels was formerly SAS, Codename Fox. Little Alex had trained with K Unit in recent past, Codename Cub and knew far too much about the Bank, they had known Ian Rider, the former MI6 agent. The news stated the kid was a teenage kidnap victim, now they all knew there was a lot more going on.

Alex's screaming reverberated through the house. Marco, who had been on watch, was trying to get the kid to wake up. His loud shout woke Alex, who sat bolt upright fully alert in an instant, shivering covered in sweat, Steve was in the room seconds later. Alex held his head in his hands mumbling in russian, when he got up and stripped ready for a shower. Both SAS soldiers got an eyeful, Alex's lean frame was covered in scars, fine knife cuts, wider whip and cane marks and roundish burns left by electrocution. Extensive yellowing bruises were also still visible. Alex was in the shower before Steve told him not to get his dressings wet... Too late

Alex dressed in some more ill fitting clothes, a t shirt and shorts. Steve carefully removed the dressings and checked the stitches. Three, evenly spaced, lines on each wrist neatly sewn shut. Marco and Steve had lovely mugs of black coffee, Alex had been brought a glass of milk. Alex then suggested a game of cards. After three rounds of poker Alex had won a pile of cigarettes, so he slopped off to get some sleep.

Alex was introduced to another member of the baby sitting team, Riley, the next morning with breakfast. Riley stated Alex should have a full fry. Alex settled on cereal. He was still eating his honey nut cheerios at 10:30, when the debriefing team turned up. None were recognized by Alex. All were SIS, just not from of the Special Operations. One was a doctor as he checked Alex out before the questions began, and the doc then stopped proceedings when lunch was served. Alex ate an egg sandwich and half a ham one washed down with lucozade before being handed an apple. Steve then brought Alex his meds, a mixture of three types of tablets. Iron tablet, multi vitamin and antidepressant.

The questions continued for another hour when Alex yawned and was instructed to have a nap.

More talk then a late dinner, which was Dominos Pepperoni Pizza. Still no coke. So Alex was handed a glass of cranberry juice. Truly vile. Alex sat and pulled all the topping off his slice before eating the crust.

The same pattern continued over the next four days, before the debriefing team were sure they had wrung Alex dry. Alex had another two full on panic attacks, when talking about the torture and part of his training in Kiev. Steve had sedated him while Marco and Riley held him in a vice like grip. The final sessions were using hypnotherapy to assess any half forgotten information remained.

Alex was sleeping with the light on and was glad there were no doors. Severe claustrophobia and fear of the dark had been added to his medical file.

The SIS psychiatrist knew Alex was too formal, too quick with his answers. All facts but no personal revelations over feelings and motivations. Alex was not willing to open up to them at all. Warning signs that Alex would break if pushed.

After two days rest, Sir Charles Fellows visited in the early evening. Alex is off for psychiatric evaluation and intensive therapy at a clinic abroad, best in the world for kidnap/torture victims. Lots and lots of basket weaving and that sort of thing. Alex wondered who had his guardianship, but he didn't ask. No one had mentioned Jack, his home in Chelsea or his possessions. These things were all now firmly in the past, like his childhood and innocence all long gone.


	8. Chapter 8

Alex was actually dressed quite fashionably in his new clothes, bought by some government employee. He was still far too pale and skinny and Brian was fussing like an old woman as his new clothes, toiletries, a couple of paperbacks, a disc man and a handful of CDs were packed for him. He even had a new passport, Israeli go figure. That kinda told him that the clinic was in Israel. Ben and Brian were accompanying him as he were driven to the Heathrow. The car drove straight out onto the apron, no chance of the press getting a picture. A customs official there gave a cursory check of Alex's paperwork.

He was met at the base of the steps into the El-Al jumbo by a small woman with an Israeli accent called Marina Coussins. Their seats were at the front in first class, his bag was stowed by the stewardess and the plane was prepped and the rest of the plane was boarded. VIP access all the way. As they prepared for take off the stewardess handed Alex a sleeping pill, which he gladly took. Alex did not ask questions. Not caring who has control of his life now, nothing mattered anymore.

When they arrived at their destination, the last of the sun's rays were hitting the sleek modern clinic overlooking the Mediterranean sea. Alex wondered who was paying for his six weeks of therapy.

Alex was given a short medical by Marina and then shown to a comfortable room, more hotel than hospital. He had a scheduled evaluation in the morning. A light meal was the most appetizing food he'd seen in weeks.

A staff meeting over new schedules finished with two senior counselors viewing the video feed from Alex's room as he slowly ate his evening meal, carefully savouring every bite. Dr Coussins talked to the chief Psychiatrist Zac Serchovic. "He's brittle, all tight control, and compliance. The brainwashing has been thorough, though Alex still has responses to traumatic stimuli. The fact he has PTSD means Gregorovich did not finish Alex's conditioning. SIS medical file only asks questions of the suicide attempt, they have seemed to brush over it, as a stress response. They do not even mention the affect of grief on what Alex is going through. The death of his uncle followed by his abduction, has major factors on his recovery. Both traumatic events will have to be dealt with."

"I bet we'll get answers in the initial evaluation tomorrow morning. I expect we'll get a good result with Alex. The younger the patient the more resilient they are. Are you starting with group?" queried the older doctor.

"Yes. Let him know others have been in similar situations. It always hard for child victims to be able to associate their experiences. Alex is most likely totally infatuated with his abductor still."

Alex read the booklet about the clinic. Touch therapy through group activities. Counseling both individually and in group and family sessions. Exercise and outings. Ummm.

The next morning Alex had breakfast in his room and was then shown to a large corner office with view over the sea. Two large sofas and several armchairs were present as well as a tidy expensive looking desk. No obvious phones or computers. Alex sat on one of the armchairs and calm man with rugged face sat opposite and introduced himself, "Good morning Alex. I'm Zac Sercovic, I'm the in charge of the Zephrin Clinic. I trust you had a good breakfast. We'll introduce you to the rest of your group later. First we'll have a chat about your stay and what you'll be doing. Any concerns you have or any requests."

Alex sat looking at his hands.

"No. Well let me give you a history of our treatment centre and what our goals are for your stay. Zephrin Clinic has been established for thirty years, we specialise in the treatment of severe psychological trauma, PTSD, especially for hostages and kidnapping victims. We have a very high staff ratio. Each charge has their own team of nurses, whom you will learn to relax, trust, rely and confide in. You are to be placed in our unit for children and teenagers. We currently have four other teenagers staying with us, whom you will meet later.

We have a team of three counselors, for your unit. You will be undergoing program of touch, exercise and physical therapy as well.

You are warned that physical violence is not tolerated, either towards the staff, yourself or the other clients in your group. We know that you have received special forces training and are a 1st dan black belt in karate. And your nurses have similar skills. We expect emotional outbursts but any aggression or violence will lead to time out, or your sedation. Repeated offenses and you will be re-evaluated to a more secure facility.

We treat soldiers and Mossad agents in another part of the facility. You are not the first conditioned assassin we have had here."

Assassin? Alex almost panicked. This guy whom he hadn't previously met or talked too had just connected all the dots.

"Yassen let you go because he works alone. He trained you to survive on your own. You will do anything to achieve your goals won't you Alex. Lie, cheat, steal, torture, kill. I don't think you've done the last two. You know how but if you'd crossed that line, if you had be part of Yassen's organisation, not here."

Alex noted he had not mentioned Scopria. Yassen had told Alex about Scorpia and it had been MI6 not himself who had made Alex's situation public. Alex knew Yassen was telling the truth. Yassen had told him about Hunter, the turned MI6 agent who became Scorpia's best assassin before being betrayed and murdered. Hunter trained Cossack, who in turn had trained Alex, Hunter's son.

The previous night Alex had been given a journal to help with communication. Alex then decided to show the shrink his dirty little secrets. 1) the fact Alex had told Yassen those three special words "I love you". He loved him. It had been spoken quietly in passing, just after target practice in a god forsaken forest in the Ukraine. Alex had smiled at Yassen and told him he loved him. 2) Alex hated his uncle,Ian, the one person he had tried so hard to impress, the only person who's attention he had craved had turned out to be a big fat liar 3) The pain and humiliation had been worth it to get away from Alan Blunt. Really it was Alex's choice, wasn't it?

Zac read Alex's short scrawled note, without comment.

"Any other concerns Alex?"

"Who's paying for all this? It can't be cheap. I know that if it was up to the British Government I'd be getting some second rate treatment on the NHS, not the best in the world."

"Alex, what do you know about your mother?"

"Oh god, your going to tell me she was a Mossad agent." Alex placed his head in his hands.

"No but her half brother was. Helen was estranged from him. Family is very important here. You are family. We will do our best to help and protect you from now on Alex. You are not alone."

Alex was suddenly so tired. "I wish... I wish I could go back to being a stupid ignorant boy waiting for Ian to show me some attention".


	9. Chapter 9

The first few days of therapy passed on auto pilot. Alex was functioning in a haze of apathy and disinterest. The lack of cigarettes was the only thing seriously getting to Alex. Then they served roast lamb for dinner and Alex had a major freak out. They had all been expecting it. Something small, no possible connection would cause a break.

After his time out, spent underneath his nurse. Avid sure knew some good moves. It also helped the fact the nurse was almost twice as heavy and a seven inches taller than Alex. Alex was lead to his room and he slept properly for the first time in weeks. Avid was there when he woke early the next morning. Alex actually asked for something for himself. For the last four months he had allowed all events to unfold around him and just gone with the flow.

I want, no need to go for a run outside in the fresh air. I need a haircut and I never want to eat roast lamb again as long as I live. Alex almost regretted the haircut, Avid gave Alex a brutal crew cut. At least he looked a bit like Alex again, all the dark brown was gone leaving pale fuzz. The run was three circuits of the grounds in the warm moist morning air.

Alex then started to reconnect with his old life. The phone call to Tom started awkwardly, but Tom was soon telling him everything that had happened in Alex's absence from Brooklands. Fights, rumours, dates, football, stupid teachers, stupid kids.. the lot. Tom was visiting cousins for three weeks, so Alex would catch up with him later. Tom talked and talked like he did at school. Alex just let the conversation flow over him. Tom treated him the same as if they were in the playground. Tom always did do all the talking.

The phone call to Jack was a nightmare. Jack gone home to the States and had decided to have a complete career change, she had put her law degree to good use and was half way through FBI training.

"FBI Quantico..."

"Errr can I speak to Jack Starbright. She's a trainee I think."

After an eternity on hold. Alex was finally connected.. "Starbright.."

"Hi.. Jack. its Alex. How are you doing?"Alex winced at how dorky he sounded.

"Oh my God Alex.. I saw you on TV. Are you OK? Where are you? What the hell happened? Those creeps at Royal and General didn't tell me anything. They told me you were on the way home but you didn't arrive. I'm sorry I wasn't there, those bastards then had me deported."

"Well, I'm fine. I'm at the Zephrin Clinic, near Tel Aviv - they specialise in kidnapping cases and stuff like that. The touch therapy is OK, I guess. Its meant to help you get over being tortured. I kinda like the cookery but I'm shit at art. Everything I do in pottery class looks like a blob. I did make a great rocket which looked very phallic though, like some of that modern art stuff we went to see at the Tate last year."

"Torture?"

"Yeah. Well I even get to play football and watch videos with the staff and other kids. Umm Jack are you crying?"

Someone else came on the phone. "Who is this?" a stern voice stated.

"Err Alex Rider, Jack used to look after me. I've been errr away. I was just catching up."

"Alex Rider, Jack's Alex?" the voice softened full of concern.

"Yeah umm can you put Jack back on"

"Umm... Jack's a bit upset at the moment. Could you call back or can you leave a number."

"OK, I'll have to ask about leaving a number. They're quite strict on security here."

The next phone call to Jack didn't go all that well either. This time it was Alex getting upset. As soon as Alex mentioned Yassen Gregorovich, it was like Jack changed into FBI Investigation mode. Yassen was International Undesirable No. 1. Alex clammed up when she started twenty questions about Yassen. Alex then started swearing in Russian and then he got a nice time out for aggressive behaviour.

Alex had had to address some hard lessons in therapy. Yassen had a gun. Yassen, not Alex, had always been in control. Alex was a naive fourteen year old, who had trusted Yassen. Yassen had befriended him. Then tortured and brainwashed Alex. His feelings for Yassen were based on infatuation and obsession created by his enforced cooperation. Their entire intense relationship was based on control and violence. Alex had been repeatedly physically assaulted. Alex was was not to blame and not guilty of any wrong doing. Alex still had a lot of issues to talk through and Zac had been straight with Alex when he stated that Alex would most likely to be in therapy for a while. He had to understand that his experiences would affect him and separate him from his peers. He had to recognise warning signs of emotional issues and be able and willing to accept help. Danger signs were depression, self harm, alcohol or drug abuse and the whole can of worms around sex and sexuality which included the need for control or being controlled. Zac had understood that Alex was infatuated with Yassen but it was not a normal healthy relationship. Healthy relationships were not based coercion and control.

The final day in the clinic came too quickly. Alex actually got to go on holiday with Avid and his family. Alex was like a different boy. A healthy tan with very short sun-bleached blond hair. Shame his tan made his scars stand out more. But he had put on weight and even grown a little. Then he was on the way back to London. Sir Charles Fellows had stated he was a ward of the government, and he had a place at a good boarding school in London, paid for by a MOD benevolent fund. He had to arrange his courses for GCSE and get a therapist worked out.

Alex had phone numbers, to contact the clinic at any point or to get in touch with the Israeli embassy. He had started to learn about being Jewish, as his mother had been. He had yet to decide whether to take that any further. Ian had not been religious. Avid had given Alex a kippah and a tallit and Alex had observed traditions when he had stayed with him.


	10. Chapter 10

Alex was met at Heathrow by Sir Charles Fellows and he was to stay with him and his family until term started. Sir Charles' wife, Lady Felicity and his son greeted Alex cordially when he arrived at their house in Hampstead. Michael Fellows was sixteen and already went to the Petrus' Academy in London but as a day pupil.

Michael was open and friendly. He was in the Army Cadets at school. All ready for Sandhurst and a guards regiment, like his dad. Felicity was Sir Charles second wife. Late thirty's former secretary, cold and handsome rather than beautiful. Things started to get rocky when Alex declined to go to church stating he was Jewish. Felicity had not liked that at all. The next day Sir Charles told Alex that he could, if he wanted, attend classes at the local synagogue while at school. The headmaster had come over to assess Alex personally. Alex's interview and review had gone well. Alex did not have to retake year nine and had been signed up for ten GCSE's heavily relying on his expertise in modern languages. His total course load included Maths, Computer Science, Double English, French, German, Spanish, Russian, Double Science, History. Sport was compulsory and Art was added as part of therapy rather than anything else. Alex could even continue with Karate, and excursions were available for Alex to continue with Skiing, Climbing and Diving. After a few days, Felicity made a sarcastic comment about Alex expecting kosher food. The comments from Lady Fellows then started about Alex being a nutcase after his second therapy session. Michael steered clear obviously not wanting to be on the receiving end of his mother's evil tongue.

Sir Charles was away for an important conference, and Alex found himself grounded for breathing wrong. Three missed meals and two courses of missed meds and Alex decided to blow the house of the ice queen. Early the next morning, Alex packed all his belongings, picked his door lock, he grabbed his meds from the kitchen and slipped out of the house. Four different buses got him to Tom's house at 8am.

The peace and quiet at the Harris' lasted about four hours when the police knocked on the door looking for Alex. He grabbed his stuff and was out of the back door without looking back.

Four streets over and Alex phoned Tom from Vauxhall Station.

"Alex the police were here asking for you. They said you were suicidal again. Something about you running off with a bottle of sleeping pills. Alex, if you're that low, just hand yourself in and get help."

"Fuck off, Tom. I come to yours to get away from my shitty situation with my foster placement. Get real, I'm outta here. Goodbye Tom. I'll see you sometime" Alex then added "Not" after he put the phone down. He went into the station, as the the train pulled in for London Waterloo.

Even at lunch time, Waterloo Station was packed. Alex kept his hood pulled up as he bought a nasty fast food burger and sat to review his options. Fuck going to boarding school. No chance of going back to Brookland. Alex looked in his bag at the two bottles of pills. Shit, he'd been tagged as a nutcase because he'd brought his prescribed medication with him. He hadn't even taken any of the sleeping tablets.

Alex ate in silence watching tourists move about, when he saw the two girls wearing T-shirts emblazoned with his face holding a newspaper. So, now he was an icon. This just made disappearing just a wee bit more problematic.

Alex went to the public telephones and phoned the Operator, and placed a reverse charge call to Israel. Zac answered with a "Hello Alex".

"I truly hate my life" was possibly not the best thing to start a conversation with your shrink with.

"Why is that Alex?"

"I need some space. I just wanted a quiet place to stay before I'm shipped off to boarding school. I really didn't get on with queen bitch of the universe, sorry I mean Lady Fellows and I can look after myself just fine. I don't need anybody"

"We worry about you Alex. Wandering the streets is not the best place for a vulnerable teenager."

"Why can't you just accept that I'm fine. I don't need any fucking adult to look out for me". and then Alex slammed the phone down.

Who to trust. It was a short list of one at the moment. Wait, just maybe. An old acquaintance of Ian's. One who lived under the radar. Waterloo East was where Alex found Ian's old buddy. Grey was ex-Army and had lived on the streets since Alex and Ian had lived in Chelsea. Ian had always helped Grey out when he had turned up looking for a smoke, a beer or some food. Alex had always thought it a bit strange, but he guessed there wasn't anyone on the streets who Grey didn't know. On the small bleak patch of wasteland, Alex walked up to the fire Grey was tending. Alex flattened his vowels for a perfect south London accent "'llo, Grey. You mightn't remember me.."

"John's little boy. Sorry t'hear about Ian. I'd 'ave come to the funeral but I 'ad a prior engagement" then the old man laughed, then looking at Alex. "So Little John, you run away from the children's home or reform school?"

"Foster parents".

"You're welcome here. I served with John in the Falklands. Life went to shit after that, mind you. John and Ian were always kind. Never judged me. Come sit down boy. Warm y'self up".

Grey pulled out a large old Barbour coat from an overstuffed plastic bag for the boy to wear and snuggle down in and a russian style hat to cover his hair and face. Grey knew the gangs, the drug dealers, the rent boys, the prostitutes, the pimps and the cops. No one hassled Alex because he was with Grey. Alex had won the old man's respect by being an excellent pickpocket, just like John, apparently. Alex's mark had been a city trader, pissed from a long lunch, loud and obnoxious talking into his mobile phone. Not the type to miss the sixty quid Alex had helped himself to from the man's back pocket. They sat and smoked after Grey spent their ill gotten gains on two fish suppers, a carton of cigarettes and a stash of beer. Alex had also shop lifted two quarter bottles of rum, when Grey had been distracting the staff while purchasing cigarettes.

The next day, Alex snuggled down to hide himself as the cops were sweeping the street, showing Alex's school photo from the previous November. Sweet thirteen year old Alex, blond short curls, happy brown eyes and perfect skin and teeth, innocent smile. Grey didn't even bat an eyelid when he coolly stated "I ain't seen no kids around." and because Grey lied so did everyone else. The green PC didn't even notice Alex sharing Grey's pile of boxes with the other assorted rubbish. Grey welcomed the extra body heat even in summer, the nights on the streets were bitter for the old man. Their close proximity kept the night demons away for both of them.

After three days Alex was a filthy as Grey, and looked like he'd lived on the streets for years. Grey kept a steady supply of beer and the ever present beer buzz, to keep Alex mellow. It was amazing how filth, stinking to high heaven and being drunk made you invisible. Super strong lager for breakfast was always a bad idea but being woken and moved on by the street cleaners, it had been the only option this morning. Grey had shuffled off to his usual haunts for the day and Alex went to wander the streets alone. Alex had gotten used to ignoring the comments and dirty looks.

Alex had finished a late lunch of a large bottle of cider and the last of the rum, and was currently sprawled in a doorway, completely wasted when two blokes approached. " Fuck off and leave me alone. What ever you want I'm not inter.. int'rested".

"Shalom"

Alex tried to focus on the two well dressed gents. But decided to offer them a smoke "Wanna fag" as he fished out his Benson's out of his jacket. The closest guy lit up and thanked Alex for the cigarette.

"Would you like to come to the embassy and sleep in a proper bed and have a decent meal, Alex." Alex had finally got a good look at the guy talking to him. He was a bit of alright.

"Not if its fuckin' roast lamb I don't."

"No roast lamb, I promise. Let me help, Alex." Alex was helped into the back of a matt black Range Rover and he promptly fell asleep.

At the embassy, Alex had remained unconscious as he'd been stripped and washed and put to bed. The embassy doctor had put in a drip and left Alex to sleep off his bender. His backpack had been revealed under his coat containing all Alex's worldly possessions including the full bottle of sleeping pills. It had also been noted that Alex had diligently been tacking his other medication. The fact he'd been drinking almost constantly for three days had negated any beneficial effect.

The problem with drinking is the hangover you get when you stop. Grey had told him, just to keep the buzz going, no evil hangover, no shakes. Alex had woken and immediately started searching for the can of beer he knew was in his coat pocket. Only to blearily notice he wasn't wearing his coat anymore.

A disembodied voice asked "Good morning Alex, have you slept well?."

"Where's m'coat I need a frigging drink... Shit I feel sick" Alex had a monumental headache, his mouth tasted like something had died in it and Alex wished he hadn't swiped the cider. He felt as sick as a dog. Next time just get lager.

A bowl was produced as Alex puked the contents of his stomach and then tried to puke up his stomach lining, intestines and bowel.

It was lunch time before Alex managed a small bowl of soup. The doctor had offered no sympathy for Alex's self inflicted hell. Alex listened to the doctor rant, two weeks of drinking like that would destroy any child's liver. He was lucky he hadn't died of alcoholic poisoning. The doctor's tirade continued that given Alex's condition he'd have likely started on hard drugs and fallen into prostitution if the two mossad agents hadn't found the boy.

The next day, Sir Charles was escorted into the embassy with a lawyer and social worker from CAFCASS. Sir Charles started by apologising for his wife, it seemed like Michael had told his dad what a bitch his mother had been to Alex. Alex listened without any response. The social worker, Karen, then asked what Alex wanted. He replied "a drink?" Further enquiries were met with "I was doing fine on the streets. a few more weeks and no-one would have to bother with Alex Rider again".

They had left and then Alex got to talk to his shrink. Two hours with Marcus and Alex had begun to crack. Yep, it had been stupid, but he'd hardly been left with a lot of choices. The whole idea of adults being willing to look out for Alex was a bit of a joke. He'd asked to go back to Israel but everyone had to wait for the family court's decision. Alex had left with Marcus to attend the Unit for Troubled Teenagers. Stuck with a bunch of drunks, druggies, anorexics, and victims of abuse. Alex should feel right at home.


	11. Chapter 11

Alex stood and fiddled with his uniform. It was very similar to Brookland's; not too bad he supposed. He didn't look like a complete spanner. Black Blazer and matching trousers with a white shirt and black, grey and white stripped tie. Alex almost looked like a normal 10th year pupil, except for the packet of cigarettes hanging out of his blazer pocket and the electronic tag on his ankle. No more running away. His placement meeting with CAFCASS, the Israeli lawyers, SIS representatives and the family court judge had been long and boring. It had been agreed, that because Alex had been a model patient at the Unit, that he would be in school on a trial basis to begin with. Three therapy sessions a week, and weekly meetings regarding his progress and to ensure he was coping and hopefully eventually thriving. School would provide a proper structured environment for him.

Alex had always had a deep mistrust of boarding schools and the type of people that attended them. A prejudice passed on by Ian. In some ways it would have been a lot easier for Ian to have sent Alex to full time boarding school at 7, but Alex had been Ian's special little project. Alex expected school to be a bit like the SAS.

His two favourite Mossad agents escorted him from hospital to school. He arrived at school just after lunch for a meeting with the staff and to settle in before the rest of the boarding pupils arrived just before dinner. Even with his early arrival there were four photographers at the gates as the matt black range rover pulled up and the two scary mossad agents scanned the area before Alex got out, with a flat emotionless grin plastered on his face for the press.

Alex was not going into dorms, but was sharing a room with the house captain, Smith, who was in his final year of his A levels. Alex would be escorted by prefects to all lessons and meals until he settled in. His therapy sessions would be in school. After a weeks good behaviour, he would be able to start extra curricular activities, Karate, swimming and maybe the extreme sports club. The extreme sports club included all Alex's favourite activities, diving, skiing, climbing and surfing. The club after GCSE next year went bungee jumping. In final year, they went on a weeks survival training. If Alex was a good student, there was a climbing weekend at October half term and a weeks skiing at spring half term in February. The only thing was no football. Cross country running, rugby and hockey were the school sports. Alex would see how hockey was. He doubted he'd be allowed to go running across London with the cross country team. Much too tempting to carry on and not look back.

Andrew Smith, it turned out wanted to be a shrink. He already had a place sorted at medical school. Alex would be a good case study/guinea pig. Andrew already thought Alex had had a bloody weird upbringing after he told him about Ian not allowing rock/pop music and only allowing very restricted TV viewing, only the news and documentaries were permitted. Alex had got to watch the usual dross at his friends houses. Andrew introduced Alex to proper rock and alternative rock music, but no pop, rap or R&B. They were for losers.

The evening meal was preceded by term notices, Alex's presence in school was one of the topics. The headmaster hoped everyone would help Alex settle in after his ordeal last year.

The first day of classes ended with the usual stares and whispers... Yeah thats the Alex Rider. Alex was then introduced to the four Jewish pupils in the school, an eleven year old, two thirteen year olds and a sixteen year old in the same house as Michael. Then came the Yid and Jewboy comments.

Alex kept himself to himself and settled into the same studying pattern as Andrew, who as a final year student, who was extremely diligent and studious. Alex was soon, ahead of his year, even after starting swimming and Karate, he was engrossed in school work. He would join the extreme sports club after Christmas. He got to smoke during his therapy sessions and he was truly awful at art. The teacher tried to be positive, but Alex had absolutely no talent. Alex's only problems seemed to be occasional outbursts of swearing, luckily mostly in Russian with a general air of awkwardness and disinterest mixed with an extreme dislike of anyone invading Alex's personal space.

At half term, his assessment was a glowing one academically. The only down side was his lack of interaction with his classmates. There had been one heated argument when Alex had stepped in to stop the bullying of Steven, the 11 year old Jewish kid, who was one of the few in the school apart from Andrew who Alex bothered to acknowledge. Sundays at School had always been a problem, roast lamb meant Alex refused to eat anything except breakfast. Lunch and supper were spent with the prefects, Andrew and finally teachers ranting at Alex to eat. No amount of detentions or warnings could change Alex's refusal to eat anything. The smell of lamb made Alex physically ill.

Alex had chosen to stay in school for the half term holidays and actually was getting close to finishing his years course work for modern languages. He had read his russian set books and had arranged to undertake his project on 20th century poets. He was in top set with extra work for maths and science, two subjects he had been coasting in at Brookland.

He had been put forward to take his GCSE's in French, Spanish, German, English and Russian in January. If he carried on he'd be able to take his other GCSE's in the summer, a full year early. Alex's plan was to finish his schooling by his seventeenth birthday. Then he'd be able to go to university and leave SIS far behind.

Christmas holidays meant Alex was at a loose end. The week between christmas eve and new years day had to be spent outside school. Alex had decided against a foster placement and so he was off to the local children's home. The whole derogatory comments about the public school boy stopped when Spike, the home's current top dog, noticed Alex's ankle tag. Spike then became Alex's smoking buddy. The only good thing was that nobody cared about Alex's past. He was accepted just as he was. Nobody even passed a comment when Alex stated he didn't celebrate christmas, and would be spending the day in his room. He had received a care package from the embassy before school term ended for Hanukah. He'd shared the sweets with Andrew. Christmas cards from Tom, Jack and Sir Charles had been binned unread before he'd left school.

The first therapy session after new year, Alex had broken down because he was so fucking lonely. He didn't want a friend. He wanted Yassen back, his Yassen. Just the two of them 24/7. Which lead to questions on Alex's ideas on what constituted a healthy relationship. Alex had no real idea of how families were supposed to work. He no longer had Jack or any friends. The closest relationship Alex had was with his uncle's murderer. This was as far from normal as you could get.

Alex's therapy sessions increased. His cigarette consumption had gone up. He took his exams and then calmed down a bit. His fifteenth birthday passed quietly, he had received a guitar from the embassy. Alex again binned cards he received from Jack and Tom. Even after Marcus had tried to get Alex to reconnect with his old friends. The usual special celebration at dinner at school had been passed over at Alex's insistence. His weekly meeting with staff Alex had suggested maybe music would provide a better emotional outlet than art. So Alex swapped art for music class, at least he was learning to play the guitar.

The next week was the school skiing trip. Off to Austria. Alex got to share room with Smith. Alex guessed he'd been watched closely by the staff since the beginning of term, after his food consumption had dropped drastically. He still ate, just not like a normal physically active teenager. Cooked school food had absolutely no appeal for Alex, he yearned for his quirky packed lunches and home cooked food provided by Jack. Jack despite hating cooking had been very creative with her 10 minute meals. Stodgy english food was completely foreign to Alex. Most lunches and dinners at school were poked by Alex rather than eaten. He remembered two years previously when Jack had tried a packet cereal based diet. That had been a great two months living off frosties, golden nuggets and cheerios. Not healthy but great. At least, he had had his tag removed for the trip, as its presence would cause problems at the airport.

The press had accepted a short photo call and a couple of screened questions and then let Alex have the rest of his school trip in peace.


	12. Chapter 12

The holiday did nothing to lift Alex's mood, if anything it made him feel more like a freak. Alex skied like he was born in the Alps. He spoke German with a Berlin accent and had nothing in common with the rest of his school chums. He was the only one capable of skiing off piste. The only thrill was from the cold air and the rush of speed as he hurtled down the black runs with abandon.

Alex's thoughts were drawn to his last ski trip with Ian. It had been a real adventure. They had been best buddies, Alex's idea of perfection had been anywhere just the two of them. Now, Alex was alone with the knowledge it had all been a house of cards.

By the fourth day of the holiday he broke away from the school group and hung out with a group of rich kids who had access to alcohol and drugs. Sneaking out to Pieter's family's chalet was easy enough. Andrew was out himself partying. Champagne, cocaine, dancing and snogging with a bunch of German kids. Alex pretended to be here on holiday, no mention of his checkered past. Alex was invited to join a small group in the jacuzzi.

Alex stripped off not thinking of his scars, to turn around to the five others staring. "Dear God, what happened to your back" stuttered Bernd. Clara looked like she was going to cry.

It was Pieter who connected the dots. "You're Alex Rider. Christ, you're fourteen. You must go home. I thought you were older."

Alex tried to explain "I'm fifteen, not fourteen. Please don't send me away. We were having fun. Weren't we?"

Alex was pushed out of the chalet in his underpants, his feet pushed into his boots and his clothes in his arms and his coat over his shoulders. He didn't even bother to get dressed he just trudged back to the hotel in the freezing temperatures nearly naked.

Alex was stupid to think anyone would want to be friends with him. He was a fucking stupid little freak. Nobody gave a shit about him. No one gave a crap what he wanted. Alex then had an evil thought. He snuck upstairs via the trade entrance into the hotel, and broke into Mr Carruther's room. Easy enough if you know how to pick a lock. The sports teacher was snoring loudly. Alex quickly searched his room and found his prescription of sleeping pills, eighteen pills still in the bottle.

Alex went back to his room. Andrew was still out partying. He downed the pills, and lay down to welcome oblivion.

"Alex, Alex tell me you haven't taken all these pills. Wake up. Wake up now! Alex!" Andrew shook the younger boy, who groaned in response. Andrew quickly phoned reception. Paramedics were on their way. So was the local doctor. Andrew held Alex's hand and wondered what had happened for Alex to suddenly decide to die.

The next afternoon, news from the hospital spoke of Alex being out of danger. He'd been found in time. The problem was that Alex had alcohol and cocaine in his blood stream as well as the sleeping pills. The teachers were now giving the rest of the school party the third degree on who had supplied Alex with said drink and drugs. To the dismay of the teachers it turned out that only Andrew Smith actually had any interaction with Alex. The rest thought of the boy as an emo reclusive nutcase. The urgings of the staff at the beginning of the year for all pupils to reach out and help Alex had fallen on deaf ears.

...

SIS/CIA Joint Intelligence Meeting

"So Charles, how is your teen spy." Masterson ribbed his colleague.

The nerve in Sir Charles cheek twitched. It was only two hours since his upset son had phoned him from Austria with the news Alex had attempted suicide. Michael had felt guilty because he had not kept up any friendship with Alex since the start of school. Michael had his own friends at Petrus' among the day boys. "Alex tried to kill himself again last night. I still haven't heard if he's OK"

"Shit, Charles I thought he'd settled into school OK and was doing really well."

"Academically he's doing brilliantly. He doesn't interact with his year group. He's been off his food. Smoking far too much and his therapy sessions have been increased since christmas. We'd hoped the school trip would break Alex out of his funk. But its done the opposite."

The therapy staff in Innsbruck were met with a boy who insisted on seeing a rabbi. "So teacher, Is there any point to all this?" Alex gestured to the room. "Or is this it. You can tell me as a religious man. Because at this moment everything tells me that the only reason I'm on this earth is to be rejected, used and abused."

Alex sighed "Hope, joy and love seemed to be for others not for me."

The rabbi then told Alex the basic tenants of faith, love, and understanding and their place in Jewish culture. Also politics and recent history were discussed.

"Peace love understanding or violence and revenge. It seems to be a double edged sword. I think I except both concepts. Do you think I can find family, friendship and love? The real thing not the twisted mass of contradictions I feel for Yassen."

"Alex, you have to allow yourself to experience trust, friendship and understanding before you can love. Love and lust are two separate entities and for most teenage boys quite difficult to differentiate."


	13. Chapter 13

Alex was sent back to school for the start of summer term, again with the ankle tag. He settled back into school routine as if nothing had happened, and he ignored the fact he'd been in hospital for six weeks. The withdrawal of extracurricular activities was met with the an indifferent shrug from Alex. Exams started in May for Maths, Double science, ICT and history. His results from January had been really good, an A for English and four A* for the other languages. Alex was actually looking forward to start his A Levels in modern languages in the autumn.

At the end of term, there was a year outing. Year 10 got to go to on a museum visit and then out for lunch. Alex stood and argued with his house master, Mr Carruthers. " I thought I was restricted from all extracurricular activities" .

"This is the school treat for the end of year. All pupils go the only exception is those on suspension or too ill to go."

"Isn't being a suicidal nutcase too ill to go."

"Nice try Rider, but your therapist assures me you are not a danger to yourself and others at the moment. Doctor Chandry and Miss Straven think the outing will be good for you."

"Its a fucking art museum I'd rather be here in detention, thanks." Alex rubbed the top of his nose.

"Please refrain from swearing, Rider." Mark Carruthers had tried to like Alex, but the boy wanted nothing to do with anyone.

"Maybe I should get suspended because I don't want to go."

"You're continued anti social behaviour is doing you no favours. Would it be so difficult to pretend to enjoy a day out with your classmates." In his class, Alex was definitely the brightest, most driven but also most withdrawn and self destructive. The next developmental meeting was going to be a dream.

Alex thought about doing something really stupid to get suspended, but he couldn't be bothered. He didn't even have Andrew to talk to as he was away on his survival training course. Alex had wanted to tell him about SAS training in the Brecon Beacons, but that was classified. Alex wondered which toe rag he'd be rooming with next year.

The day trip was dull and boring as Alex predicted. Was he really meant to be impressed and appreciate all these pictures of dead people by dead artists? Alex preferred modern art: expressionism, cubism and surrealism. Not this. Alex slipped away from his group as Miss Straven gushed about Van Dyck and Holbein. He stood on the steps of the museum smoking watching the tourists in Trafalgar Square, when he was joined by Ben Daniels. "Bad boy, Cub. Your class has made it into the Hogarth, Reynolds and Gainsborough gallery, you're missing a treat."

"Right. Can't you just fuck off and leave me alone, Fox. Maybe go play with those giggling schoolgirls at the bottom of the steps since they have the same mentality as you." Alex flicked his cigarette butt away and actually looked directly at Ben, with a nice sneer on his face.

"What have I done to you to deserve that, Cub?" asked the MI6 agent, who had taken the job of trailing Alex's class today to get an update on his old teammate. Ben noted Alex was taller but far too thin. Ben was on light duties after being injured on his last mission.

"You breathe don't you. Royal and General got nothing better to do than keep tags on a mental unbalanced school kid." At this Alex turned away again and lit another cigarette.

"Well, you are a high flight risk." There had actually been a bet on in the office that Alex would walk out, and either get drunk or high. The worst suggestion was that Alex would try to find his old mate Grey.

"Is that some euphemism for I'm likely to top myself any minute. Well, now that my boredom threshold has reached critical and I can't even be bothered to throw myself under that bus, too much effort." Alex was amused by the worried look on Fox's face. They thought he'd go off and have some fun, not that he was thinking of killing himself. Alex continued "Anyway we're going to Pizza Express for lunch. I get drink coke and pretend to eat pizza."

"Pretend to eat?" Ben remembered being a teenager, he'd never stopped eating.

"Yeah well, it winds everyone up when I don't eat. I guess I'll get another trip to the unit for nutty kids this summer for anorexia. Better than the fucking children's home." Alex thought that about summed up his life at the moment. Lets face it if they sent him back to the children's home he'd cut the fucking tag off his leg and just fuck off again. This time maybe to Paris or Berlin. London was last years destination of choice.


	14. Chapter 14

Ben Daniels had come to pick Alex up from school. Alex was spending summer holidays at Hereford, more precisely SAS RHQ Credenhill. Alex guessed SIS wanted to test out just what Yassen had taught him. Alex was now in full on surly teenage mode. He spent the journey listening to loud rock music on his discman. Andrew had given him a selection of proper rock CD's and passed on the band t-shirts that he'd grown out of. Alex was wearing his favourite 'Generation Terrorist' T-shirt. Alex had perfected teen communication skills; grunting, huffing and sneering.

Ben had taken the silent treatment in his stride during the journey to Hereford. There was no force on earth like a difficult teenager.

The gate at camp proved to be the first obstacle. Ben had handed over his ID, but all Alex had said was "Bite me".

"It speaks" Ben had answered, before he grabbed Alex's bag to hand over Alex's passport.

Alex exited the car and had immediately lit up. Ben did not know how Alex had gotten the russian cigarettes. They made their way into the Sergeant's office for assigning of quarters and timetables.

The Sergeant made no comment on the smoking teen.

"Welcome back, Fox and Cub. You will be training as a two man team on standard special ops evaluation. You may go to medical for evaluation then stores. Rooming in Barrack C, Section 6."

Fox and Cub stood side by side buck naked for their full medical. Alex had checked the other man out and noted the new scar on Ben's shoulder, which looked like a bullet wound. The later psychiatric exam with full inkblots was conducted with Alex answering the docs questions in quick fluent russian, german, french and spanish.

Fox could only surmise that training would make or break the teen.

Alex turned up to dinner still in civvies with a copy of And Quiet Flows the Don in the original russian to read while listening to Garbage on his personnel stereo so loud that most of the room could hear it. The general disquiet in the canteen was stopped when Steve, AKA Frog stepped up and greeted Alex, along with Marco 'Leemer' and Riley 'Squirrel'. They were all part of E-Unit. Alex had some friends. Alex told them about already taking his GCSE's a year early, and that he was taking Russian, French, German and Spanish for A levels.

When Fox called him Cub several others were heard to mention double o nothing, but Alex had already been recognised as that kidnapped kid. Wolf had spread the word that Cub had been a teenage operative, who MI6 had screwed around.

Alex was again allowed a reduced weight backpack and a more generous time allotment for the basic fitness test and combat fitness tests . Alex pushed himself to keep up with Fox. He finished with good job from the Sergeant.

Alex was called into the Sergeant's office the next morning.

"Sit, Cub." The Sergeant then poured two mugs of tea from a large, battered thermos.

"Look, I know your only here because its supposedly the safest place for you. You should be off on holiday with your school chums, chasing girls, getting drunk or high or both. You got a bum deal last year. You need to take stock." The Sargeant then took a long drink of tea.

"You don't need to be the best, hardest, most badass here. I know what MI6 want. You can do hand to hand combat, firearms, basic fitness and recon evaluations, but you're not undergoing EE or RTI at Brecon and definitely no Killing House. I know you've been refusing therapy here. Would you please reconsider?"

The Sergeant looked earnest and worried. Taking Alex's silence as a request for more information

"I've talked to medical. Doc Prichard is a good egg. He's helped more than a few of us out of a bad spot here. Talk to him. I'd like you to spend at least two nights a week away from Daniels and the grunts. The nurses will look after you. We've discussed video nights, pizzas/takeaways. Frog was most insistent that you have time out. Some normal activities away from the rest of us nut jobs. We are not here to complete MI6's master plan. You're not a killer and I'm not going to turn a fifteen year old kid into one. I'd be happiest if you decided you wanted to be a market gardener or a sculptor. Anything to get you away from what that Bastard Blunt wanted."

"Sculptor?" Alex laughed "Obviously you haven't seen my results in art class. The best thing I did all year was a paper model of an AK47. Even that was crap and I got detention for it." Alex sighed. "OK, I will go back to medical today for a full evaluation and I won't pull their chains this time."

"Good Lad."

Alex went back to barracks to collect his books and journals. He ended up spending the next four days in medical. The nurses spoiled him with microwave pizza and chips, chocolate bars and bottles of coke. His therapy sessions were long and intense. Doc Pritchard even contacted Marcus and Zac to compare notes. Alex's training plan was rearranged to accommodate his extended psyche sessions and time out.

Alex returned to a firearms session with Fox. The instructor picked on Alex as he had no firearms mentioned in his file and he had missed the introductory lecture. Alex could identify and state significant characteristics of all the firearms noted in the lecture he had missed. Then came the handling and disassembling, cleaning and assembling of various firearms. Alex was handed a filthy Browning pistol. Fox got an equally misused Walther PPK. He quickly and quietly went about his work. The others were given tips and help with particular peculiarities of their firearms. Alex finished just ahead of Fox and they both went to the front to have their handy work inspected.

The Instructor looked a Alex. "Cub, your file has no mention of firearms."

"Oh Yassen had me look after his guns. I tell you cleaning and resetting a sniper rifle is a bitch. Handguns are no problem."

Fox then whispered. "Too much information Alex."

The instructor followed "Have you fired a sniper rifle then."

Ignoring the MI6 agent, Alex prattled on "Yeah. I've completed sniper training to Yassen Gregorovich's exacting standards. And by the way the rumours are true."

"Rumours? What Rumours are they." asked the confused instructor.

"Yassen had five trainees prior to me. He does not accept mistakes. Its total commitment, obedience and perfection or death. I'm his only trainee who survived his teaching methods."

Alex was worn out at dinner. He ate without interaction and went straight to bed.

Fox woke in the morning to two members of E Unit standing guard. "Docs orders let Cub sleep."

Cub awoke at 10:30 and panicked. Breakfast was at 6:30. He'd missed two lectures.

"Calm down Cub, your timetable has been re-evaluated. Your in for briefing at 11:15. So eat up. We have a nice bowl of cereal here for you. Umm soggy cornflakes and warm milk."

Half the top brass seemed to be there as well as several department heads from SIS including Crawley and Smithers. His training regime with Yassen was discussed in detail. At least several of the soldiers actually looked sick and disgusted at what Yassen had made Alex endure.

Alex was glad when he'd been dismissed for dinner.

He'd remembered all of his training in the Ukraine vividly. As he walked across the quad to the canteen, he lingered over the memory of the day he stupidly challenged Yassen about his training schedule. His punishment had been the cause of Alex's claustrophobia and fear of the dark. Alex stopped walking and was suddenly lost in the memory of the dark tank filled with cold water, with no way out.

Yassen had used Alex's own nightmares about Port Tallen against him.

Someone was sobbing... Broken wails of pure pain and hopelessness... Alex knew it was him, but he couldn't quite connect the sound with his self. It was as it he'd separated his physical and conscious self. Someone was stoking his hair, holding him close. "You're safe Alex, No one will hurt you here".

Alex gasped in a breath, then calmed himself and questioned "Sergeant?"

"Bad one was it, cub? I had some mean flash backs after Kuwait. It happens to the best of us, you just get overwhelmed with some moment of pure terror. What triggered it?"

"Going over Yassen's training techniques. Get something wrong and he put me in the tank" Alex gulped back a sob and closed his eyes "underground, pitch black filled with deep freezing cold water, nothing to hold onto. You just had to hope that Yassen would remember to pull you out. You loose track of time. It seemed like an eternity holding back the panic and treading water. Afterwards he beat the crap out of me. That's how I learned not to talk back or make mistakes."

Two medics were approaching with a stretcher. Then Alex noticed the crowd milling about. As Alex wiped the tears, spittle and snot off his face with his hands "That gentlemen was a flashback. A common side affect of extreme emotional and physiological trauma. It has been approximately two weeks since my last one, most are transient and I get by with others not noticing. Normally it just looks like a thousand yard stare. I have approximately twelve weeks worth of PTSD inducing moments from last year to enjoy. Welcome to my life". Alex offered no resistance as he was lifted into the stretcher and was on his way back to medical.


	15. Chapter 15

Alex let his depression hit full on. He fitfully slept. Ignored the staff. He shuffled to the toilet but did not wash and was in the same clothes he was brought in in. He didn't even bother to poke the next three meals that were placed in front of him. It was only when a drip was shoved in his arm that Alex realised he hadn't drunk anything either.

The shrink came in and sat on the edge of Alex's bed "Having a good pity party there, Alex."

"The best, Doc. Cool music, the best food, drink, engaging guests. Oh no, its just me."

"Are you going to eat or do I have to transfer you to a specialist anorexia unit." Dr. Pritchard was prefer to transfer Alex but MI6 wanted the boy here, even with Alex's severe flashbacks and dpression.

"I thought hunger strike was a kinda cool way to die, much faster without fluids but hey I'm patient." Alex rubbed his face. "Tell me there's a rainbow on the horizon. Cause the choice of Army camp or boarding school is just too fucking much at the moment. I don't even play football anymore. They've taken everything I enjoy away. I was selected to play for London under 15's, when I was at Brookland. I was looking forward to try outs for Chelsea. I haven't even seen a game since I came back from Israel."

"This isn't about football is it."

"I guess not. Just what is the point of trying. I have absolutely no chance of living happily ever after so why even bother."

"Who do you want to live happily ever after with, Alex"

"Yassen."

"Oh Alex."

Alex then explained "I haven't had a chance to get over him, because I just seem to talk about him constantly. Well the only people I talk to are shrinks or spooks. So yeah constantly."

"Alex, I don't think anyone apart from you could profess to feel anything positive for Yassen Gregorovich, I think its time you let go of your unhealthy obsession with him. He is part of your past. He abducted, groomed, tortured, and abused you. Why do you insist on clinging onto him?"

Then Alex summed his life up with "Because I have nothing else."

Alex acquiesced and ate a couple of sandwiches and had two glasses of water. The drip was removed on his promise to drink fluids and eat regular meals. Alex's stuff was brought over from barracks. The nurse looked through his CD's with a sarcastic Cheerful. Alex put on the Manic's and wallowed in his misery.

Alex woke up at an ungodly 4am, the next day and decided he really did stink. The nurse stayed in his office during Alex's shower. He rummaged around his bag to get his school sweats out and trainers. No he wasn't playing soldier today. He was fifteen, depressed and fucking hungry. He wondered what the canteen would say if he asked for coco pops. He decided he go for a run first. Alex even left a note.

Alex was joined by E-Unit on his second circuit of the camp. Two more circuits and it was quarter to six and time for an early breakfast in the canteen.

Alex's inquiry about all full sugar and chocolate cereals was met with laughter from the kitchen staff. Alex decided on a pile of toast and a pint of milk rather than anything cooked. Eggs at 6am was just wrong. E Unit joined him, "You keeping tabs on me then?"

"Well cub, you're a bit of a secret weapon aren't, you. We're wondering what else that bastard Gregorovich taught you."

"What apart from interrogation to Scorpia standards." Alex stood up and glared at E unit before continuing in a whisper as if revealing a secret, "Eleven days. Yassen tortured me for eleven days before I begged him to stop. Begged that I'd do anything he asked if he stopped." All Alex's bravado was lost on his shaking hands as he lit up a cigarette. All thoughts of eating forgotten.

Alex drank his milk, which turned in his stomach. At least he made it outside before puking his guts up.

"Why is that child still here. Marcus is willing to place him back in the Great Ormond Street Unit." Doc Pritchard asked Sergeant Harry Dixon.

"I have no idea, Charlie. The higher ups want to test the kid. Gregorovich programmed Cub to be a perfect sniper. The kid has the skills and a slight push in the right direction and that kid'll be a cold sociopath. A bloody fifteen year old Double-O." Wof may have joked about Cub being a govenment sanctioned assassin but here the lad was almost that. He then voiced the long held antagonism SAS held for spooks, "Just what Ian Rider started training the him to be. If John Rider was still alive I'm sure he'd have killed that bastard for doing that to his son."

The second talk Alex had with the Sergeant, concentrated on the extent MI6 wanted to test him. The Sergeant was completely straight with Cub. He told him what he thought of Ian Rider, which wasn't particularly complimentary after he'd started with "I know your not meant to speak ill of the dead, but Ian Rider was a complete and utter cunt. I think you already know this. He was so far up Alan Blunt's arse he couldn't think straight. Your dad was SAS. So you're family. I'd be the first to admit the SAS is not the kind of family I'd wish for any child. We'll, no I'll look out for you." Alex also gleaned some info on the departmental changes. Crawley's the new head of Special Operations. Sergeant's opinion was that Crawley was not in the same league as Blunt but the service was better for Blunt getting the chop.

Knowing some of the cards in the deck made Alex accept he was back and it wasn't all bad. He could even say been here done that, unlike the new recruits coming in later in the week. The Sergeant was going to use Alex as demonstration. Lets see how the Army's best compare to Alex Rider.


	16. Chapter 16

Two days later the new intake arrived and were screened by medical and completed their fitness tests. After the first day of training, the squaddies were gossiping about the what was to come. Most were worried about the escape and evade and the RTI phase. Alex scoffed at this "36 hours RTI - thats for girls; try eleven days with Yassen Gregorovich". With that Alex picked up his book and went back to barracks.

Two days later was hand to hand combat evaluation. Alex at 5'5" was the shortest and slightest there and obviously underage. The class comprised twenty large, well muscled men who were to be evaluated for their fighting skills. Alex was dressed in a U2 T shirt and combat trousers and boots. He stood smoking with the instructor, the leader of E unit, who was a 7th dan black belt in karate. "Alright cub, I want you to go against Him." And Seal pointed to a large athletic paratrooper.

"Cub is our secret weapon and now you can see if you can defeat him. Please no permanent damage to the kid. Sarge wouldn't like it." Alex was only 2nd dan black belt but he knew a few nasty tricks. Yassen had instructed him how to render the strongest opponent helpless with speed and accuracy.

The para was face down on the mat wondering what had happened. How had a kid just done that with four hits. Alex now had a bloody nose, but that was the only hit the para had been able to land and the kid was apologising to the instructor for getting hurt. Seal was shaking his head and he gave Cub kitchen duty for lack of concentration.

Alex then beat his second and third opponents with ease. Seal then asked the soldiers what they were doing wrong. With various lackluster answers. Alex and Seal then sparred. Seal had noted Alex's style and speed. Alex was not surprised when after a short exchange of blows he was pinned to the mat by the large man.

"What was different about that spar? Anyone?"

Seal finally said "Well done, Cub, Go and annoy Medical" Then Alex was dismissed and all the soldiers paired up.

The next day the firearms instructor had set up a special sniper evaluation for Cub. Three Sergeants, Fox, E-unit and the best shots in the current intake were in attendance. Five different sniper rifles. All well used and in moderately poor condition. Alex picked the Russian 50mm rifle and sight, and then took the rifle apart cleaned and reset the sight to his requirements. He was then handed a clip of bullets. Alex set up the rifle on its stand and lay down. The range was set ten moving targets, five moving non targets, ten bullets in two minutes, various ranges 100 to 750m.

Ten head shots perfectly on target, no misses, no incorrect hits.

Alex then scored in a similar range for the British and American rifles. The targets were rearranged for each shoot. One shot was slightly off target using the Chinese rifle, it would still have taken the side of the head away, just not dead centre. The last, Israeli rifle was one Alex had not fired before. He took his time to weigh it up, test the trigger and to assess the sight. Then he scored another excellent round.

The other recruits were then split between the rifles and started their evaluations.

Alex actually enjoyed his two days kitchen duty. He got to be extra surly at the serving counter slopping food onto trays.

The recruits were being sent to the Brecon Beacons tomorrow. Alex was staying behind. With most of the SAS unit away training, Alex had free run to watch videos, hang out with the few staff still on base and generally relax. Alex was to undertake an advanced first aid course and continue with his sessions with Doc Pritchard.

With his continued therapy, Alex realised he had formed some trusting relationships Andrew at school, Marcus, Doc Pritchard, Sergeant and E unit.

K Unit came back to base in mid August. Wolf was shocked when he saw cub in the quad circuit training with the Sergeant. Was Cub back on operations duty? It seemed to be the only explanation for the kid being at Hereford.

K Unit's arrival was closely followed by the return of the twelve volunteers who had passed training. Wolf did not understand the change in dynamic. The rest of the units on base treated the kid as a kind of mascot/good luck charm.

They were all present when RTI evaluations were discussed with a special lecture at the end. Alex then got to talk about his real experience and he discussed Phase I abduction and grooming, Phase II torture and Phase III training and reprogramming as the form of an essay, the Doc had persuaded him to write. Alex had also started to reread his journals, notes on feelings, his thoughts on therapy and nightmares. Alex had finished four journals all in shorthand over the course of a year. Alex could note what nightmare he had when and the likely triggers. Alex decided it was a good place to draw a line under everything. First, he really did have to give up smoking. Not a good habit for a sports mad fifteen year old. His swimming coach at school had been disgusted by Alex's continued smoking. It was a crutch, pure and simple. Second, he had to stop controlling what he ate. He had a proper diet plan from the nurses. Third, he had to actually talk to the dorks at school. Hard, considering he didn't actually like his fellow pupils but he was skipping a year so Year 12 might be better. Friends + trust equalled the possibility of relationships. It was likely that a couple of guys at school were also gay or bi. He would try his hardest to be normal, well normal for Alex Rider.

"So Doc I've only got a five point plan for the new school year, what do you think?"

"What about a life outside of school? You've rejected fostering. Don't you want a family any more."

"I don't think I ever had family. I was just a special project to Ian. Jack has her own life now. She doesn't need me. No I'm fine on my own."

Somehow Doc Pritchard was not convinced.


	17. Chapter 17

Alex's plan had gone down a treat at his CAFCASS meeting before school. Karen his social worker had gushed how Alex was finally showing signs of thriving and achievement of these goals should be rewarded with greater freedoms and independence for Alex. Maybe Boot Camp had been a good idea. Alex piped up it had only worked because of the Sergeant and the medical team working for Alex not throwing him in the deep end to watch him sink. His rest of his GCSE results were very good, a mix of A's and B's, but no A*'s this time.

Alex was going into dorm rooms with three other Year 12's. Richards and Jones were best friends, and gave Alex the cold shoulder when he said hi. Steve Heron was a new pupil so had no pre-conceived notions about Alex. They both had hit it off straight away over similar musical tastes and they both played guitar, liked football and sport. Steve's had previously lived in Barcelona, and spoke spanish just like Alex. Steve's parents were corporate trouble shooters, who moved often. Steve listened as Alex explained his complicated situation, as an orphan and a ward of court, and had no fixed guardians since his uncle had died. Alex knew the other roomies were listening, maybe they even felt a bit guilty giving Alex the cold shoulder but only Andrew the previous year had bothered to find out Alex's situation was a less than ideal one and that Alex had reasons for not being able to fit into school norms.

Alex's good intensions lasted two days. On the second day of classes, a parcel arrived at lunch with mail call. It had an Israeli postmark and stamps. Alex opened it not thinking anything was wrong. The packet contained a book on Russian Contemporary Poetry. Alex read the inscription on the first page, familiar handwriting in neat cyrillic stated, _Congratulations Little Alex on achieving excellent school results, forever yours Yassen._ Alex sat frozen in place as he processed the message/ Yassen had finally contacted him. He was still there after lunch had finished, when he should have gone to the library for private study.

Alex was late for his therapy session, Marcus was just about to chase the boy up when Alex entered to room, his sleeves were rolled up to above the elbows. Dark rust red stains covered the front of Alex's school shirt. Alex had bloody hands and was carrying a swiss army knife. Blood was coating his inner arms up to his elbow, cut after cut criss crossing through Alex's flesh on both arms.

"Alex! Alex! drop the knife. Drop it now!" Alex looked dazed, but he immediately dropped the bloody blade.

Marcus quickly rang for the school nurse and for the first aid kit and stated an ambulance was needed. He then maneuvered Alex to the couch in the room and lay the boy down, raising his arms to slow the bleeding. Alex was going into shock.

The fact Alex had received a gift from his abductor was discovered at dinner when the book and envelope were handed in to the teachers and the russian teacher translated the inscription.

Across town, Alex lay unresponsive in bed at hospital, staring at the ceiling. He concentrated on the faint pain of his arms even under the mild sedative he'd been given. Alex went over the short message in his head. _Forever yours.._ His initial rage at this message had passed in the half hour he spent mutilating his arms. The pain helping with the mountain of frustration Alex felt. Each cut was like the time spent when Yassen was the one cutting into his flesh. A ghost of comfort in a way. The message in the book using the code words that Alex had to stay put, instructions to wait, be patient before he saw Yassen again. He thought back to Kiev and the short visit by Levi Kroll, who'd been sent by Scorpia to reign Yassen in. Alex had not understood their conversation in hushed arabic. The russian was already preparing to go to Bogota, with plans in motion to hand his hostage over to the Americans. Levi left after a long look at Hunter's son. Yassen would return to work for Scorpia without Alex. The russian had told him before they arrived in Bogota, he had to play the role of a brainwashed hostage and that he had to keep their secrets. Alex had done enough to keep MI6 away, now he could relax on playing the troubled teenager, he wasn't going anywhere. Alex had to be patient, get his A Levels, maybe college. Alex wished he knew what Yassen was up to, but he would keep his head down until he was contacted. God, he missed Yassen.

The staff at Petrus were in uproar, someone had taken photos of Alex being loaded into the ambulance and sold them to the press. The kids couldn't see what the problem was, nobody actually liked Alex Rider.

Alex had been transferred to a small clinic on the south coast which had a reputation of informal and unorthodox methods to teen problems, often with excellent results. Alex shared a room with James, the wayward son of the financier billionaire Dieter Sprintz.

James, who had had a rough year after a hostage situation at an elite school near Geneva. He was in intensive therapy after rehab for his drink and drug problems. Alex and he bonded after they both had horrific night terrors. Alex saw a shade of himself in this boy, so they became inseparable to the point when Dieter and his ex-wife Blythe turned up for family sessions, James and Alex sat hand in hand. Each finding support and understanding at a deep level. Sharing secrets, comforting each other from their nightmares. It turned out the SAS had helped with the hostage extraction at James' school. Alex then told James about Boot Camp this summer, he only had to change a few details. James had a reputation as a trouble maker, staying out at parties, drink and drugs. Alex piped up been there done that. Which had made James laugh. James' father was rich successful in trading bonds or something, with little time for his son. Alex sympathised, James's father sounded an awful lot like Ian. The relationship was closer than even with Tom. Two damaged boys could relate.

After the four weeks, James returned to Switzerland and Alex discussed his future with his therapist. She decided Alex did not need institutional care but a different approach. The Friends of the St Jude's were approached and a foster family was arranged with home tutoring. Miriam and her partner Lottie were happy to open their home to Alex, he was not the first teenager with serious emotional issues they had fostered from St Jude's.


	18. Chapter 18

Alex arrived at a small gatehouse for a secluded country estate. A quiet Alex was welcomed into their house for the evening meal. Alex had previously met Lottie and Miriam at the clinic. Lottie was a part-time tutor and supply teacher and Miriam managed the estate, which was a small recording studio and accommodation. Alex was to try and relax and get his life back in perspective. If he improved he would be able to go back to school, but school work was not a priority since Alex was a year ahead.

Alex loved the simple meal that was served, when he arrived. Pasta and garlic bread were all home made. It was like being back at home with Jack and Ian on the few occasions they were like a strange family. After a week of walking around the estate, swimming in the indoor pool and settling in to a routine of evening soaps, football on TV, reading and conversations. Alex knew what he had been missing, he had not felt this relaxed since his holiday with Avid the previous summer. Alex looked over his year plan. The upset of the previous month was put in perspective. Alex was away from school, he did not have to go back. There was a local further education college, where Alex could take his A Levels

Lottie and Miriam looked in on the sleeping teenager. Alex had settled in with far more ease than either woman had expected. Maybe it was because nothing was expected of Alex and that neither of them had any connection to Alex's previous life, Alex had relaxed. He had begun to talk to the both of them. Once a week therapy sessions at home. Alex was here to heal. The next hurdle was to slowly decrease the boys anti depressants and tranquilizers.

Alex was proud he hadn't had a cigarette since he had settled in Sussex. Miriam had new clients arriving tomorrow, a moderately successful Scottish rock band recording their second album. The producer, Dave, had already turned up and he came over for dinner. Alex had cooked roast beef with all the trimmings including yorkshire pudding. A first attempt for Alex from Delia Smith's recipe book. Everything turned out brilliantly, Alex was so pleased. The producer treated Alex like a normal teen. Not mentioning Alex's scarred arms or infamous past.

Alex liked helping Miriam. He was kept busy. He cooked, cleaned and generally helped out. Sean the lead singer, had asked Alex about his cutting and had shown Alex his own faded scars. Sean had had a rough time in and out of foster homes as well. No control in his life. Alex explained that his cutting had been when his whole life seemed a complete nightmare. Sean encouraged Alex to explore his thoughts and feelings in prose, poetry and word play.

Alex called Tom for the first time in over a year. "Hi Tom, its Alex. I was just ringing to see how you were."

"Alex. God Alex. How are you doing? I keep reading crap about you in the paper. You still a mental patient then."

"Not at the moment. I've been fostered though. Lottie and Miriam, my foster parents, are really cool lesbians."

"Lesbians! You're shitting me. Are they hot?"

"Umm, Tom, are your parents hot? You know they are parents, like Euwww. Of course I don't find them attractive. Do not ask if I've seen them making out cause that just sick."

"Shit, Alex. Gay parents. Freaky!"

"So Tom, your parents still arguing?"

"Separated. Dad moved out living with a real slag."

"What's new with you. Are you dating?" enquired Alex.

"I'm going out with Becca Hughes. You know the girl with the big tits in the year below. We've been going out since June. She's so cool. Likes football and everything."

"I like football."

"Alex. Be serious, I know your football mad. So you still at that fancy boarding school?"

"Nah. I'm on medical suspension."

"What the hell does that mean?" enquired Tom.

"I'm recovering from my last stupid stunt. The one reported on in the Mail. Suicide Attempt No. 3. I just wanted the pain and hurt to stop. It gets too much, and I just do stupid things. I'm much more relaxed, now. I haven't had a flashback or nightmare all week and my meds are being reduced. My new shrink thinks I need a more home based approach. School, camp and the children's homes were too impersonal. I need a parental type relationship and positive family associations."

"God Alex that must be the most you've ever talked about yourself, ever."

"I know. So tell me about the cool Becca. She still in braces."

"Christ no. She's definitely hot now. She's my girl, she has to be."

An awkward pause followed. "I'm sorry I haven't been in touch."

"I know Alex. You've had a shit year. Alex, sometimes you just have to look after No.1. Don't worry about it. So, you seen any Chelsea games recently?"

Tom like always was Tom. Understanding and approachable and able to talk and talk and talk.

Three days later Alex tracked Jack Starbright down. Thank god for the internet. She was a field agent in Dallas.

"FBI Dallas"

"Hi Is it possible to speak to Agent Jack Starbright."

"Starbright" It was strange to hear Jack so formal and forthright.

"Hi Jack. Are you OK to talk? Its Alex. Alex Rider."

"Alex. How are you doing? I saw you've been in and out of mental care."

"I'm doing better. I'm trying not to make stupid decisions at the moment. I have cool foster parents. I actually feel like I have a home now."

"I wish I could have been there for you." Jack's voice tinged with regret.

"I know Jack. Do you like being an agent?"

"Yes Alex I like putting bad guys away." Alex noted the hard tone to Jack's voice, something her voice had never had before. Now they had nothing in common. The only thing connecting them was seven years in Berlin, Madrid and London. Good times, all connected to Ian.

"It been good to hear from you. Miss you, Jack. Umm I have to go this is costing the earth. Bye Jack."

Alex felt a bit of closure on one aspect of his life. Jack was firmly in Alex's past now. Both of them with completely separate lives.

Alex was shocked when Sean played him a song he'd written for Alex. Strange chord combinations and cool verses. Alex liked it a lot. Alex had even played a bit of acoustic guitar on the recording.

Alex found that family life was like learning to be a normal person again. He had quietly stated that he'd hated boarding school intensely. He would be happy to go to the Chichester College to take his A levels as a normal student starting after the christmas holidays.

MI6 intruded just once in early December. An investigative journalist with the Guardian had been digging up dirt on Ian Rider, Herod Sayle and Alex. The mass of lies and contradictions had got the journalists attention. He had requested an interview with Alex. Alex had read the man's work as Lottie and Miriam, who were avid Guardian readers. Alex reluctantly agreed.


	19. Chapter 19

Alex turned up to the Dorchester with Ben Daniels. Ben looked like he worked for a bank in a smart designer fitted suit and tie. Alex looked like a rebellious teenager wearing ripped jeans, a well worn plaid shirt over a black t-shirt and a leather jacket. Alex had been fully briefed on what he could say. Nothing on Stormbreaker. Blah Blah. Official secrets act Blah Blah Blah.

Alex looked very out of place in the five star restaurant. The idea was in informal chat, then photographs for a piece in the magazine. Alex wondered what the magazine's stylist would make of him.

Alex had removed his jacket before sitting down. His shirt was rolled up to the elbows. Ben, the journalist and photographer got a good look at the self inflicted scars on Alex's inner arms.

Edward Pleasure was middle aged, glasses, receding hairline and very normal looking. He'd written several pieces on Sayle already. Polite greetings and the a digital recorder was turned on. Alex had made a strange cough when covering up laughter when Ben had introduced himself then added Royal and General Bank. Alex had looked at the a la carte menu and then asked the french waiter in French if it was possible to have sandwiches and chips with a large glass of cold milk.

Edward started "So Alex you knew Herod Sayle, quite well."

"Well yeah almost better than anyone I suppose. My uncle Ian worked closely with him before his death and I was invited to stay at Port Tallon for a few days in late March last year. "

"This was to recover from that bad bout of flu."

Alex looked blank for a moment then smiled "I'd forgotten I had flu, with everything else that happened, that spring." Alex took a large gulp of milk. "What can I say about Herod Sayle. He was a contradiction; brilliant but difficult. I disliked him. Herod was not a nice man. Awful taste in clothes, art, pets, colleagues..."

Edward queried "Pets?"

"Yeah he was a fan of deep sea diving. Had a large tank with a humongous Portuguese Man Of War in it in his office. Not nice. Not nice at all." Alex shuddered at the memory of that Tank.

"So, I've heard you were with Herod Sayle when he was assassinated."

Alex was looking at the exit at this point. "Yeah I was." Alex skirted around the issue of actually being on a roof top with Sayle and Yassen. "He was shot. Close range two shots into his chest." Alex closed his eyes remembering the pops close together, smoke rising from Yassen's gun. The impassive face and cold eyes of the assassin. "Funny I didn't look at Sayle until he was dead and lying on the ground. I was staring at Yassen and his gun."

"Yassen?" queried the journalist.

"Yassen Gregorovich, russian assassin" answered Alex ignoring Fox whose hand signal was telling Alex to shut up.

"You're saying that it was a professional hit by Yassen Gregorovich, not Hamas terrorist squad as reported". Edward Pleasure quickly noted down the name as an important name to follow up. Every journalist had heard of the assassin, he was a ghost, a shadow, the bogey man. A Hit man who mercilessly left no witnesses. This child had met him and lived to tell the tale.

"Yeah, I thought everyone knew I was kidnapped by Yassen Gregorovich I haven't kept that secret. Oh yeah I forgot I've spent the last 18 months talking to spooks and shrinks and no-one else."

Edward Pleasure then looked at Ben trying to assess if this "bank employee" was a spook or a shrink. No Mr Daniels looked like hired security, ex Army, possibly ex SAS by the look of him. There were rumours that Royal and General, a small independent bank with very small client base and international status was a front for serious money laundering and dirty dealing. He had wondered what role Ian Rider had played in Sayle Enterprises. Edward Pleasure had researched Ian Rider's background. He had been head hunted by Royal and General in 1988. Ian Rider had previously been employed at the Foreign Office after a first in Economics at Cambridge. In 1987, he'd left work to concentrate on raising his nephew after his brother and sister in law were tragically killed in a plane crash. He had a very high status lifestyle and had been overseas finance manager at the bank since 1998 at London. Previously Ian had held various positions at branches in Paris, Berlin and Madrid between 1992 and 1998. Settling in London in time for Alex to start secondary school. Ian Rider had then travelled the world on bank business. Alex attended Brookland, a Comprehensive School with a fairly poor reputation, which was a mystery, banker's children normally attended a prestigious day or boarding schools. Full time house keeper from 1994 to 2001, Jack Starbright, who had refused to talk to Edward, when he had contacted her. Alex had moderate results at Brooklands only excelling in Modern Languages and Sport. Ian Rider had been killed in a car crash on 3rd March 2001.

Trying a different tack, as Edward had noted Ben Daniels displeasure at the revealing of Yassen's name. "Tell me about your Uncle?"

"Ian was a big fat liar. Next question." Alex would talk for hours about Yassen, Ian was another story.

"Thats all?" Edward's interest was peeked.

"Yep." Now, Alex was leaning back in his chair fixated at a very interesting point on the ceiling.

"OK, did you know what Ian did at work." Edward continued, watching Ben Matthew's uncomfortable body language.

"No. Ian never talked about work at all. No chat about colleagues. No gossip. No talk about deadlines or schedules. Nothing. In fact I saw very little of Ian apart from holidays at Christmas and in the summer. Even when he was in London he went to work early and arrived home late. Jack took care of me. Ian lived for his work. I was just an afterthought. Next Question." Alex said. Edward watched Ben Daniels visibly relax.

Hoping to bring up positive memories of Ian Rider, Edward asked "What was the best thing your uncle did for you?"

"He bought me a cool bike for my twelfth birthday." Alex answered straight away.

"How would you describe your relationship with your uncle?" Edward saw Alex tense.

"Neglectful and border-line abusive in reflection; at the time I thought he was wonderful."

"You sound quite bitter about your uncle. I thought you and Ian were close."

Alex laughed "Ian died. I then found out that the man I idolised was in fact a complete figment of my imagination. I'm sure I meant very little to my uncle." Alex was shredding the sandwiches on his plate at this time, clearly agitated.

"So you went to Brookland Comprehensive? Not Prep or Public School?"

"Ian thought Private schools turned you into unthinking yes men. He wanted me to think for myself and work for my future just not getting positions handed to me cause I went to the right school. My dad John joined the Army at 16. Ian went to a comprehensive and made it to Cambridge on merit alone."

There was a pause and Edward looked through his notes on questions previously approved by Royal and General.

"There has been very little released to the journalists apart from Foreign Office statements after Hamas released your tape."

Alex interrupted "Tape? There were several tapes."

Ben then touched Alex's arm and shock his head.

In a mock stage whisper Alex blurted out "Oh they don't know about the other tapes."

"Other tapes?" asked the photographer.

Alex smiled like a shark, cold eyes and a mouthful of teeth, and then stated "Yeah. You don't want to know."

"So Alex, you haven't spoken about your ordeal. You spent eleven weeks in captivity. Did you know where you were?"

Alex rolled his eyes, now for the officially approved fairy tale, "Well it was hot dry desert. I saw some arab looking guys once. It was a compound with nothing much about except scrub and rock. It could have been anywhere in the near/middle east. I don't know."

"Alex there have been reports of your stays at the Zephrin Clinic, Great Ormond Street Hospital and St. Jude's. Can you describe your treatment?"

"Well mostly talking interspaced with other types of therapy. I know better than to annoy the staff. Bring held down and tranquilized is fucking shit. Next question."

"You're no longer a pupil at Petrus' Academy. Are you at school elsewhere?"

Alex was getting annoyed at the bastard journalist bringing up school "No. Next Question."

Edward decided to go for broke "Can you tell me about Yassen Gregorovich."

"Good looking. Very good looking. Intense. He had the body of a dancer. Has beautiful hands. I used to watch his hands as he cut me, beat me, hurt me" Alex answered with a smile.

"Alex." Warned Ben

"Yeah too much information. You know I think he's the best friend I ever had. I miss him so much." Alex enjoying watching the shocked expression on the photographer's face.

"Alex you have been warned." Ben said forcefully

"Yeah fucking shut me up you prick. I think I need a piss or something" as Alex stood and marched towards the men's room. Closely followed by Ben.

Edward and the photographer Mike looked at the retreating pair. "Shit! Angry, angry young man" said the photographer.

"I expected, someone like Sabina's school friends. He's nothing like the boy his school friends, teachers and staff at Brookland described. No, Alex Rider reminded me of some serious criminals I've interviewed not a school kid." Edward mused on the collected statements on a quiet, intelligent, polite, popular boy. Good at sports. Excellent footballer. His uncle had rejected offers of apprenticeships with several London teams.

Mike added "I guess the systematic torture changes a kid."

Edward had heard rumours of graphic tapes of torture and interrogation, now the kid had confirmed their existence "Mike can you get hold of those tapes."

"I can try. I'll try that guy at Al Jezerra. It'll probably cost but I can get them."

Edward had watched Ben Daniels throughout the questioning session. Alex had let sip some very important details. The journalist wondered if a ransom was paid and if so how much.

Alex strode into the bathroom and sat in a stall; fuming that talking about Ian, school and Yassen had upset him.

"You better have cigarettes Fox. Because I need a fucking fag. For fuck's sake, I haven't smoked for three months and that prig has me gasping as soon as he opens his mouth. Do good liberal mother fucker."

"My thoughts on journalists exactly" said Ben as he held out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter.

Alex lit up and took a long drag, then blowing out a long trail of smoke. "Ummm Marlboro. Players are better."

"I thought you preferred those shit russian cigarettes."

"You start smoking russian cigarettes at the office, Fox and you'd be in for interrogation as a possible double agent before you could finish the tab."

"I expect you're right." chuckled Ben.

"They called Ian a patriot at his funeral. Not what I'd describe him as. I can't wait to piss on Blunt's grave. Where is that old fucker anyway, the Falklands?."

"Yep. Running the agent evaluation centre "

"Shit, Sir Charles was pissed off."

"Thats a polite way of putting it."

"And Mrs Jones?"

"She transferred back to the Home Office. Special Branch Liaison."

Alex stubbed out his cigarette with a long exhale of smoke "Back to twenty questions."

"Yeah, No more talk about Yassen. Yes or No answers. No details."

"They'll get hold of copies of the tapes."

"I know. I hope they have strong stomachs." added Ben.

"My daughter was jealous I was meeting you Alex. She finds you quite mysterious and fascinating."

"What in a tragic broken hero sort of way." At this Alex snorts. "No Mr. Pleasure I'm the last person you'd be introducing your daughter too. Nasty damaged goods. I don't have friends. Not any more."

"What do you want to do in the future?"

"I would like to be a successful suicide."

"Alex." Warned Ben.

"Well its not like I'm going to be a footballer now is it. I've been sectioned twice, no three times in the last year. Who wants a fucking nut case."

"Alex. If you continue with the negative comments this interview will stop"

Alex visibly calmed himself and then apologized, "Sorry, Ben, Mr Pleasure, Michael. Next question."

"Umm, would you like some time out to calm down. We can continue after your photo session."

"This is as calm as I get." This statement got raised eyebrows from the three adults. "Seriously."

"You ran away last year and spent a few days on the streets what did you gain from that experience."

"Umm Lager's OK but I get terrible hangovers from cider."

"You spent what four days drinking?" queried Edward.

"Yep, regular lost weekend." Alex noted the journalist did not ask about Grey or Alex's stay at the Israeli embassy.

"There was rumours at Petrus' about drug use." Edward started to dig.

"I take cocaine once and I'm a fucking druggie. Cocaine isn't as good as the morphine Yassan gave me."

"Alex!" ordered Ben.

"Shit sorry not meant to talk about Yassen its a bit triggery." Alex added.

"Triggery?" Edward was a bit lost on that statement.

"PTSD and all that shit. Cigarette again, Please Ben."

Mr Pleasure added, "I thought you'd given up cigarettes, Alex."

"I had three months clean, this is my second this afternoon."

Ben's phone then rang. "Sorry I have to take this." And Ben retreated outside.

"So Mr Pleasure want to ask some real questions now." Alex said dumping ash on his uneaten sandwiches.

"Was your Uncle involved in Money Laundering?" was the first on the non approved list of questions.

Alex had not expected that Edward did not know about Royal and General being a cover for Black Ops "To my knowledge no. I honestly have no idea about banking. I don't want to."

"Were you raped?"

Alex furrowed his brow recollecting his interrogation with the CIA, they had expected him to have had a sexual relationship with Yassen. Something about standardized reprogramming techniques using rape. He'd lied though his teeth denying it then. A soft unsure "No.". Alex looked the two journalists with the first open expression on his face, one of resigned sadness. He had been close to Yassen, he tried so hard not to think of their short time as lovers. The only thing he's admitted to was that they'd showered together and slept in the same bed. Alex blamed his childhood, any personal contact was out of his comfort zone.

Mike the photographer gave Edward a pointed look as if thinking Alex was lying.

"But you were tortured?" continued Edward Pleasure.

"Extensively. I broke after 11 days. Sleep depravation, stress positions, water boarding, beating, toe nail removal, whipping, and knife cuts. The electro shock got to me. I was begging and pleading for Yassen to stop at that point."

"You seem very calm talking about this." Edward Pleasure then added in shorthand in his pad 'but not about your uncle?'

"I've been in therapy for eighteen months over this. It tends to be other situations that lead to my episodes of self harm."

"What caused your episodes?"

"First one I was alone, truly alone for the first time since I'd been kidnapped. I broke a glass and I slashed my wrists open; I was actually terrified of a future without Yassen. Second time in Austria. I'd been to a party. I thought I'd made friends with a group of teenagers but they were horrified at the sight of my scarred naked body. I was pretty low at that time. Rejection kind of compounded months of extreme loneliness. I took my sleeping tablets, pure cry for help on my part. My third episode was self mutilation, cutting. I had had a shock. Yassen sent a present to my school. It was like I know where you are, I know what you are doing. I'm watching you. I freaked."

"Why do you think you were kidnapped?"

"I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Yassen was there to assassinate Herod Sayle. I was with Mr. Sayle. At the time, I honestly thought Yassen was going to shoot me too. He didn't. In someways, killing me would have been more merciful. I survived. I'm learning how to cope and hopefully I can learn to trust people again. My relationship with Yassen, will probably be the most intense relationship I'll have in my entire life. It was 24/7 full on control about everything. It was fucked up yes, but still a relationship. I'll never let anyone do that to me again. I don't think I could survive it sane. Its been hit and miss at times over the past year anyway."

Ben then returned. "Umm James is coming to take you to the photo shoot. Arr, you continued the interview."

Alex then lied. "Nah, talked about football."

"OK the car's waiting outside." Ben then whispered to Alex "Do not wind Wolf up."

Alex acted all innocent when he said "Hello, James" to Wolf. "Good to see you. Keeping well?"

"Get in Alex." Wolf said through gritted teeth

The photographer's studio was only a couple of streets over. Wolf stayed by the door out of the way of the Mike and his team. The stylist looked at the smoking teen and visibly looked stumped. Alex's hair had not been cut since the summer, when it had had its last brutal crew cut. It was now tufty short curls and slightly longer on the top. Alex did not care about his appearance one little bit. The brief had been for a minimum of make up and some teen clothes. Alex's own jeans were ripped, distressed and had paint stains on them. His walking boots were second hand and looked it. The t-shirt had a cigarette burn in it and his shirt had previously belonged to Lottie. Well at least he did not have spots. Miriam had insisted on a ultra healthy diet with lots of fruit and veg, whole grain bread, rice and cereals. Only the occasional pizza. No sweets. no fizzy drinks, no chips or crisps.

The stylist picked out some clothes. Boots, jeans, shirt and a jacket. Alex proceeded to start pulling his clothes off. "Alex, we have a changing room." Mike informed Alex.

"Fuck it, I have nothing you haven't seem before. The stylist, Margot, at least turned her back. Alex put on the clothes and proceeded to roll up the shirt sleeves. Margot then undid two of the shirts buttons.

The photographic assistant, Bob, then took light readings and the make up artist, Hal, dabbed Alex's face with foundation and concealer as the boy screwed up his face. Hal, than asked Alex if he would mind a little eye make-up because he would look a divine as a bad boy. Alex agreed reluctantly and a little eye pencil and mascara were applied.

Alex sat and smoked as the photographer took various poses, all while chatting to Alex about football. Michael then took a detail shot of Alex's arms and wrists. The photos were put on a computer screen and Alex looked at the results. Alex looked about thirty, not fifteen on the photos. Maybe it was the milage.

Alex liked two of the photos; the one where he was looking down, face obscured by smoke and the detail of his scars. The photographer then took a shots of Alex leaning against a wall. Alex then took off the jacket and put his hands over his head. The photographer liked this. Alex then said it would be better with restraints. Where they got the handcuffs from Alex did not ask. He did make sure they had keys though. Photos of him in cuffs were taken sitting down, against the bare brick wall and Alex laid on the floor. Handcuffed hands above his head. He then took off his shirt for the same pose.

Alex asked for a half a dozen prints of various of the photos. He gave Michael license to use what he wanted Alex didn't care.

"Enjoy that then, Cub." asked Wolf gruffly.

"No not really. I could have read about three books instead of being here."

"Books?"

"Yeah, I know its a foreign concept for you. You know paper with words on it, no pictures." added Alex

Wolf ignored Alex's sarcastic comment. "What books are you reading?"

"Um Les Miserables in French. All Quiet on the Western Front in German and Don Quixote in Spanish. I'm not reading any Russian books at the moment. I'm hoping to read Darkness at Noon as well. I hear the Player of Games and the Wasp Factory by Iain Banks are good as well."

"A Levels texts?"

"Yeah." Alex looked at Wolf, obviously the SAS man was not into reading for pleasure.

"What you going to do after you take your A Levels. Modern Languages at Uni?"

"Don't know. I want to be a writer now. I like writing poetry. Not that you're getting to read any of my compositions. I use big words you wouldn't understand." Alex then wondered why he had told Wolf he composed poetry.

"If you say so, Cub. Not joining the army?" asked Wolf as if expecting Alex to want to be SAS full time.

"No. I hear nut cases aren't allowed." There you go Alex thought, second very personal statement for git-face Wolf.

Alex noted that Wolf did not bother to put dissuade him about this statement.

Alex was glad when he waved goodbye to Wolf after he was dropped off at Victoria Station for the south bound train. Alex relaxed and listened to music on the way back to Arundel. No K unit, no SIS, no journalists.


	20. Epilogue

SEQUEL POSTED Stormfront 2

Rated M

Alex has left school and has to decide what direction his life will take. Trained by Ian, MI6 and Yassen to be a perfect operative. Alex manipulates, lies and plays the great game for his own gain.

WARNING Slash relationships, graphic sex, swearing and violence.


End file.
